“Dad?” I called tentatively from the other side of the living room.
“Yes.” He replied from the corner of the couch, behind the newspaper he was reading.
“Uhmm. I need to, uhh, ask you something.”
With a quick flip of his wrist, my dad folded one corner of the paper towards himself revealing his face to me. The other half of the paper, closest to the lamp on the end table, still up in the air caused a shadow to fall on his face. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or concerned.
“I uhh. I need you to. What I am trying.” I muttered trying to find the right way to ask.
“Spit it out Mumbles.” He called me mumbles whenever I, well, mumbled my words.
“IneedyoutocometoschoolnextweekandmeetwithMr.DeLorenzotheassistantprincipalsoIcangetoutofasuspension.” I blurted.
My dad lowered the other half of the paper and asked for an explanation. I was his 6th kid. It wasn't the first time he was asked to stop by for a conference and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. I explained the situation and my dad rolled his eyes. I could not tell if he was rolling them at me or rolling them about the whys and the whos.
The following week I was called out of one of my early classes and told to go the assistant principal’s office. As I passed the giant school mascot statue in the main hall I could see my father through the plate glass window that separated the offices from the hallways. I was overcome with a sense of dread. Up until that point I had never, ever, been in trouble in school. I was a good student. I don’t mean that I was getting As and Bs, I mean that I was a good kid. Most teachers liked me. I participated in extracurricular activities. I was on the student government. I was a good kid.
I followed my dad down to Mr. De Lorenzo’s office. Mr. De Lorenzo was on the phone. He waived us in and gestured for us to sit down in the chairs across from his desk. A few minutes later he hung up the phone.
“Thanks for coming in today.” Mr. De Lorenzo said smiling like a cat that ate a canary. “Did your son tell you why I asked you to come in?”
“Yes.” My dad replied. He then went on to repeat the story I had told him. “Apparently my son was working on planning the sophomore class trip, a ski trip to Jack Frost Mountain. He and the other officers collected money from all the students that were interested, made arrangements for the buses, planned the whole trip. You, Mr. De Lorenzo, as the class council supervisor, were supposed to send a deposit check to the ski resort in order to book the place. You never mailed the check. Two weeks before the trip the ski resort called and canceled because they were overbooked. My son was frustrated and apparently made a disrespectful remark about you, which you overheard.”
“Actually, your son, called me an idiot.” The assistant principal clarified.
“I know what he said.” My dad responded. “What is the punishment for a student calling a teacher or yourself a name like that?”
“Well, according to the disciplinary code, they would receive one day of an In-School Suspension.” Mr. De Lorenzo said with a smug look on his face.
“Then that should be the punishment Bill gets.” My dad stood, turned towards the door.
“I didn't call you an idiot.” I argued before my dad could leave. “I told another member of the class council that I thought you were an idiot for not mailing the check. You just happened to over hear me say it. I was not being disrespectful directly towards you. I was just giving my opinion.”
“Bill.” My dad interrupted. “You heard the man. In-School Suspension for one day is the punishment. Do I need to sign something Mr. De Lorenzo?”
“No, but you don’t have anything to say about what your son did? What he said?”
“No.” my dad answered.
“But the reason I asked you to come down here was because I don’t have to give him the suspension, I can reduce the punishment to just a detention. I just wanted to ask you your opinion on the matter.” Mr. De Lorenzo sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. He leaned way back in the chair as if he wanted to watch my dad ask him for forgiveness and a lesser punishment for me.
“If what Bill said requires an In-School Suspension, then suspend him.”
Mr. De Lorenzo sat up in his chair. “So you agree that what Bill said was wrong?”
"You asked that I come down here so you could hand-out his punishment. I am missing doing my job so you can do yours." My dad looked at me he then looked at the assistant principal. “My son is entitled to his opinion. If voicing his opinion gets him trouble, so be it. He has to learn.”
Mr. De Lorenzo’s face went red. “But you don’t’ think he was wrong?”
“I just told you he will serve the suspension." My dad said and locked eyes with Mr. De Lorenzo. "You have here a boy who is on the class council trying to do right by his class and school. He doesn't have to do that. He also participates in student council, football, and other extra curricular activities. He got frustrated with you because you were supposed to do your job and you didn't. You want to suspend him, and possibly chase him away from giving back to the school because of ego. Your ego. I am not defending Bill right now just because he is my son, I would defend any kid in his position. But because he is my son he will serve the suspension. I will not admit that Bill was wrong for voicing his opinion in this situation."
“And why is that?” Mr. De Lorenzo asked.
My dad smiled at me. “Because I happen to agree with his opinion.” and my dad walked out of the office.
Three days later I served my In-School Suspension. I smiled the entire time.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Exposure
I have a question that has been bothering me for a while now and I have never been able to figure out how to ask the question without it sounding totally perverted and messed up. It is a serious question and one that I think other parents may ask and one that I think could be answered by the people of the Internet.
At what age is it inappropriate for a boy to be naked in front of his peers? Especially if his peers are little girls? (See what I mean about the question?)
And at what age is it inappropriate for a girl to see a penis? (See, again, I can't ask the question without it being weird.)
I have three boys and sometimes during play dates with their female friends or cousins one of my boys ends up in a state of undress. Whether it is Max who walks around the house with his pants around his ankles because he had trouble pulling them up after using the bathroom. Or Wyatt, who, if he had his way would be naked all of the time. And of course Jackson needs to get his diaper changed from time to time.
When their girl play dates were young, two or three years old, it never bothered me that my boys were all willy-nilly (pun totally intended) with their nakedness. I guess because the girl's mom's never seemed to care. But now that Max's friends are older, I guess I am feeling somewhat, hell I don't know, more uncomfortable.
I still have no problem changing Jackson's diaper, any where or any time. I understand Wyatt's need to spill stuff on his clothes, on purpose, just so he can run around naked. I get that Max, some times, has problems with his pants. I guess lately I have become more aware of the audience.
So I am asking the Internet, at what age is it uncomfortable for exposure? Being the Exposure-er or the Exposure-ee?
At what age is it inappropriate for a boy to be naked in front of his peers? Especially if his peers are little girls? (See what I mean about the question?)
And at what age is it inappropriate for a girl to see a penis? (See, again, I can't ask the question without it being weird.)
I have three boys and sometimes during play dates with their female friends or cousins one of my boys ends up in a state of undress. Whether it is Max who walks around the house with his pants around his ankles because he had trouble pulling them up after using the bathroom. Or Wyatt, who, if he had his way would be naked all of the time. And of course Jackson needs to get his diaper changed from time to time.
When their girl play dates were young, two or three years old, it never bothered me that my boys were all willy-nilly (pun totally intended) with their nakedness. I guess because the girl's mom's never seemed to care. But now that Max's friends are older, I guess I am feeling somewhat, hell I don't know, more uncomfortable.
I still have no problem changing Jackson's diaper, any where or any time. I understand Wyatt's need to spill stuff on his clothes, on purpose, just so he can run around naked. I get that Max, some times, has problems with his pants. I guess lately I have become more aware of the audience.
So I am asking the Internet, at what age is it uncomfortable for exposure? Being the Exposure-er or the Exposure-ee?
Monday, November 09, 2009
Dodgeball
My buddy Dan told his wife the only thing he wanted for his 40th birthday was a dodgeball party with his family and friends. She made all the arrangements and a few weeks ago I received an invitation. I have known Dan for about 25 years. Over those years I have spent many parties with Dan drinking and acting up only to wake up feeling awful and in pain from the previous nights shenanigans. I promptly RSVPed "yes" because it seemed like a good idea. I did not want to miss out on the fun.
This past Saturday was the party. Dan was surprised. About 20 people showed up to play Cosmic Dodgeball at the Sports Zone . The staff at the Sports Zone are used to hosting these types of parties for kids and they did their best to treat every one of us there as a kid.
Five minutes into dodgeball the game became more like meander-away ball. And after another 5 minutes I was playing more like malinger ball. And after another five minutes I was playing hide-behind-my-friends-and-pussyfoot-ball, as you can see in the video. Dodgeball lasted an hour and afterwards we all gathered in the one of the little party rooms for pizza, soda and cake.
I had a blast at Dan's party and, as it was when we were younger, I woke up the next morning feeling awful and in pain.
This past Saturday was the party. Dan was surprised. About 20 people showed up to play Cosmic Dodgeball at the Sports Zone . The staff at the Sports Zone are used to hosting these types of parties for kids and they did their best to treat every one of us there as a kid.
Five minutes into dodgeball the game became more like meander-away ball. And after another 5 minutes I was playing more like malinger ball. And after another five minutes I was playing hide-behind-my-friends-and-pussyfoot-ball, as you can see in the video. Dodgeball lasted an hour and afterwards we all gathered in the one of the little party rooms for pizza, soda and cake.
I had a blast at Dan's party and, as it was when we were younger, I woke up the next morning feeling awful and in pain.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Man Challenge
Picture this:
A woman struggles opening a mayonnaise jar, turns to her husband for assistance, he tries and tries but cannot get the lid to turn. It is such a simple task yet so difficult. She says, "Honey, let me run it under some hot water." He says, "No, I got it." He struggles some more, sweat beading on his forehead. She says, "Let me tap it with a knife." He says "NO. I said I got it." He keeps trying but the lid refuses to budge. A seemingly simple physical challenge is bringing his manhood into question. A man is supposed to be able to open jars. He places the jar on the counter to re-assess the situation. The woman picks up the jar, bangs the lid on the counter and with a quick flip of her wrist the jar opens. He says, "I loosened it for you."
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Completing a physical challenge, no matter how simple, is good for man. It gives us an opportunity to beat our chest and say "Look. I did that." That is why Carnies are always calling out to men challenging them to throw a softball at milk bottles. Carnies know the challenge seems simple that men will keep trying until we get it just so we can say "I did that." There is nothing like carrying a giant stuffed panda around to heighten ones testosterone level.
Sometimes the more seemingly simple tasks become the more complex challenges. There are a few of these seemingly simple yet complex challenges where men thrive on the competitive nature of the challenge. Getting someones keys out of a locked car is one of those challenges. No key, a locked door, limited tools, its like MacGyver. Men want to be MacGyver.
Yesterday I locked my keys in my car. We do not have a spare key. I was in the parking lot of the Acme food store just a mile from our house. I was up for the challenge. I told the woman at the customer service counter my predicament and asked if they had a screwdriver and a wire hanger. They did. I went back to my car and I began to work. I wedged the screw driver in the door frame and propped the door open just enough to work the wire hanger into the car. I maneuvered hanger's bent end close to the electric button but every time I "pressed" the hanger it would bend. I was close. I "pressed" again but the hanger bent some more. I removed the hanger reshaped it and went back to work. Every time I got close to hitting the button the hanger would bend and I would have to remove it to reshape it.
As I was standing at my car with the wire hanger and a screwdriver protruding from the door I began to notice a strange phenomena. Men would come up to me and offer advice or they would look in their trunks and cars to see if they had the right tool to open the car. Every guy that passed me in that parking lot, over the half hour or so I was standing there, could feel the MacGyver in them. They wanted a piece of the challenge. It is a man thing. Carnies should have a game where they lock keys in a car.
Every woman that walked by, all said pretty much the same thing, "Don't you have a spare key somewhere?"
Knowing that the hanger was too soft for the job (hey now) I finally broke down and called Lauren. I asked her to grab a wooden dowel that I knew we had in the garage and another screwdriver. I knew that with something less pliable than the wire hanger I would be able to open the door. Lauren thought that at that time she should mention that I am probably ruining the car door. I got a little frustrated and said, "Just bring me the stuff I asked for okay." and I hung up.
Five minutes later Lauren called me back. " I am not coming to get you." She said. "I called the police. Someone will be there soon. Just wave them down when you see them."
"You called the police?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Why? They have more important things to do than help me. Besides I knew I could get it open if you just brought the stuff."
"They will have the right tools to get into the car."
"I can't believe you called the police on me."
"Well I did."
I hung up and worked very quickly trying to get the car door open before the cops showed up. I could not believe that Lauren would emasculate me like that. Getting keys out of a locked car is a manly thing. Its one of those things we are supposed to do. Two minutes later a cop showed up. I lowered my eyes in shame avoiding his judgemental look. I pretty much gave up my man card right then and there. The officer had the car open in 30 seconds.
"There you go, sir" He said. Adding the "sir" as if he may have been questioning it.
"Thank you." I said. "I am sorry my wife called. I could have gotten it if I had a few more minutes."
"No problem." He responded as he got into his cruiser.
"Well I DID loosen it for you." I said.
A woman struggles opening a mayonnaise jar, turns to her husband for assistance, he tries and tries but cannot get the lid to turn. It is such a simple task yet so difficult. She says, "Honey, let me run it under some hot water." He says, "No, I got it." He struggles some more, sweat beading on his forehead. She says, "Let me tap it with a knife." He says "NO. I said I got it." He keeps trying but the lid refuses to budge. A seemingly simple physical challenge is bringing his manhood into question. A man is supposed to be able to open jars. He places the jar on the counter to re-assess the situation. The woman picks up the jar, bangs the lid on the counter and with a quick flip of her wrist the jar opens. He says, "I loosened it for you."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Completing a physical challenge, no matter how simple, is good for man. It gives us an opportunity to beat our chest and say "Look. I did that." That is why Carnies are always calling out to men challenging them to throw a softball at milk bottles. Carnies know the challenge seems simple that men will keep trying until we get it just so we can say "I did that." There is nothing like carrying a giant stuffed panda around to heighten ones testosterone level.
Sometimes the more seemingly simple tasks become the more complex challenges. There are a few of these seemingly simple yet complex challenges where men thrive on the competitive nature of the challenge. Getting someones keys out of a locked car is one of those challenges. No key, a locked door, limited tools, its like MacGyver. Men want to be MacGyver.
Yesterday I locked my keys in my car. We do not have a spare key. I was in the parking lot of the Acme food store just a mile from our house. I was up for the challenge. I told the woman at the customer service counter my predicament and asked if they had a screwdriver and a wire hanger. They did. I went back to my car and I began to work. I wedged the screw driver in the door frame and propped the door open just enough to work the wire hanger into the car. I maneuvered hanger's bent end close to the electric button but every time I "pressed" the hanger it would bend. I was close. I "pressed" again but the hanger bent some more. I removed the hanger reshaped it and went back to work. Every time I got close to hitting the button the hanger would bend and I would have to remove it to reshape it.
As I was standing at my car with the wire hanger and a screwdriver protruding from the door I began to notice a strange phenomena. Men would come up to me and offer advice or they would look in their trunks and cars to see if they had the right tool to open the car. Every guy that passed me in that parking lot, over the half hour or so I was standing there, could feel the MacGyver in them. They wanted a piece of the challenge. It is a man thing. Carnies should have a game where they lock keys in a car.
Every woman that walked by, all said pretty much the same thing, "Don't you have a spare key somewhere?"
Knowing that the hanger was too soft for the job (hey now) I finally broke down and called Lauren. I asked her to grab a wooden dowel that I knew we had in the garage and another screwdriver. I knew that with something less pliable than the wire hanger I would be able to open the door. Lauren thought that at that time she should mention that I am probably ruining the car door. I got a little frustrated and said, "Just bring me the stuff I asked for okay." and I hung up.
Five minutes later Lauren called me back. " I am not coming to get you." She said. "I called the police. Someone will be there soon. Just wave them down when you see them."
"You called the police?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Why? They have more important things to do than help me. Besides I knew I could get it open if you just brought the stuff."
"They will have the right tools to get into the car."
"I can't believe you called the police on me."
"Well I did."
I hung up and worked very quickly trying to get the car door open before the cops showed up. I could not believe that Lauren would emasculate me like that. Getting keys out of a locked car is a manly thing. Its one of those things we are supposed to do. Two minutes later a cop showed up. I lowered my eyes in shame avoiding his judgemental look. I pretty much gave up my man card right then and there. The officer had the car open in 30 seconds.
"There you go, sir" He said. Adding the "sir" as if he may have been questioning it.
"Thank you." I said. "I am sorry my wife called. I could have gotten it if I had a few more minutes."
"No problem." He responded as he got into his cruiser.
"Well I DID loosen it for you." I said.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Symptom
I was in the process/hell of shoveling 5 yards of mulch, last fall, when I started to feel tightness in my chest. I stopped to catch my breath and found that it was short. A minute later I threw a few more shovel-fulls into the wheelbarrow to top it off. I bent my knees, grabbed the long wooden handles and dead-lifted the weight of the wheelbarrow. As I steered the mulch toward the front garden the left, I felt a sharp pinch in my left shoulder. I lost my grip on the left handle and it dropped from my hand, the metal container crashed to the ground spilling its contents all over the yard. My left arm and hand were numb. I could feel a tingling sensation in my funny bone area.
I did a quick mental check; chest pain, check, shortness of breath, check, numbness in my left arm, check. I did what any normal 38 year-old (this was last year) red blooded American would do in this situation, I went inside, drank a glass of water, sat on the couch and let the symptoms subside. I also did not tell my wife.
Two days later, while at work, I ran up two flights of steps two at a time. As I pulled on the stairwell door I could feel my left arm go numb and I felt a shooting pain emanate from my neck and chest. I returned to my desk, sat down and tied to wait out the pain. I was not short of breath this time but I could feel muscles in my chest close in around my lungs.
I thought to myself.
“I wonder if I am having a heart attack. I can’t be. I am only 38. But wait a minute there are people who have heart attacks who are even younger than me. I am having chest pain. Left arm, numb. I got pins and needles in my left pinky, is that a sign of a heart attack? Could be. I guess. No shortness of breath so that is a good sign. Hold on a sec, two days ago I was mulching, a heavy activity, and I started to feel this way. I just ran up some steps and I feel this way. Holy crap I am having a heart attack. Is this what angina feels like? Heh, heh, I said angina. Now that I just told myself I am having a heart attack I can feel my breath getting shorter. Wait a minute the pain in my arm is gone. Whew. Wait, now it is back. Try not to think about it. I wonder if someone in the office has Nitroglycerine tablets. How come Nitroglycerine tablets do not explode? Like in cartoons? Or is that TNT? Okay the pain in my arm is now gone but It still feels numb. I can hear my pulse. That is a good thing. That mean I have a pulse. But maybe that is a sign that my heart is working harder because it is under attack. My doctor did tell me I had high cholesterol. well not really high but elevated. Wow, now I can feel my back and shoulder blades cramping up. Okay maybe I am only having a panic attack. What are the symptoms of a panic attack? Let me Google it. S.y.s.m.t.o.m.s.o.f.p.a.n.i.c., Crap I spelled symptom wrong. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspacebackspacebackspacebackspacebackspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. m p.t.o.m.s.o.f.p.a.n.i.c.a.t.t.a.c.k. Enter. I should have just used the mouse I don’t know why I always delete the entire sentence or word instead of highlighting the mista… and here we go. Let’s see, symptoms are kind of the same as a heart attack. But wait I have numbness in my arm. Oh numbness in arm is a sign of a panic attack. I need to call 911. No if I call 911 and it’s only a panic attack I would feel foolish ahving an ambulance wisk me away from work. But if I die at my desk of a myocardial infarction, heh heh infarction, I would feel foolish. Well actually I would be dead so I guess I would not feel foolish. I am sweating. I am starting to feel lightheaded. Breathe. Breathe. Deep breath. No good. Still have chest pain. If I die Lauren is going to be so pissed. Now I am getting tunnel vision. Getting hard to swallow. Great now I am having a heart attack AND a panic attack. Maybe it is a panic attack. What if it is a heart attack? Fuck.”
I called my doctor and explained what I was feeling. They told me to come in right away. The office that I go to trains new physicians. I never really see the same doctor twice. The person on-call was a young female who seemed pretty sharp. She hooked me up to an EKG and immediately ruled out a heart attack. I immediately felt 100 times better. We went over my symptoms again and again. She reprimanded me for not going to the ER over the weekend when I first experienced the chest pain
“But it wasn’t my heart.” I said.
“But you did not know that at the time.” She responded. “What if it was?”
“But it wasn’t.”
“Next time you should go to the ER. It is better to be safe than sorry.”
"But it wasn't"
"You are closer to the higher risk heart attack age than you think."
Ouch. That hurt.
I started to argue with her but a nurse entered the exam room and handed the doctor my chart. She flipped the file open and started to read my history. I could feel my face flush. She was reading about my last visit. We spent the next few minutes in silence. She closed the chart with a flourish and smiled at me.
“There is nothing in here to indicate that you would have any heart issues.” She said.
We talked about anxiety and she did some reflex tests. The doctor ruled out a panic attack although she did think I talked myself into some of the symptoms (stupid internet). She then suggested I see a specialist who handles Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. It sounded serious, but it wasn’t.
The Thoracic guy sent me to an x-ray guy. The x-ray guy sent me to an MRI person. The MRI Person sent me to a nerve conduction woman. The nerve conduction woman stuck 2 inch needles into the muscles up and down my neck shoulder and left arm and sent electricity through them. She then sent me back to my regular doctor.
The final diagnosis is herniated discs in my neck, C3, C4, C5. Now, if I ever do have a real heart attack I am just going to think it is a pain in the neck.
I did a quick mental check; chest pain, check, shortness of breath, check, numbness in my left arm, check. I did what any normal 38 year-old (this was last year) red blooded American would do in this situation, I went inside, drank a glass of water, sat on the couch and let the symptoms subside. I also did not tell my wife.
Two days later, while at work, I ran up two flights of steps two at a time. As I pulled on the stairwell door I could feel my left arm go numb and I felt a shooting pain emanate from my neck and chest. I returned to my desk, sat down and tied to wait out the pain. I was not short of breath this time but I could feel muscles in my chest close in around my lungs.
I thought to myself.
“I wonder if I am having a heart attack. I can’t be. I am only 38. But wait a minute there are people who have heart attacks who are even younger than me. I am having chest pain. Left arm, numb. I got pins and needles in my left pinky, is that a sign of a heart attack? Could be. I guess. No shortness of breath so that is a good sign. Hold on a sec, two days ago I was mulching, a heavy activity, and I started to feel this way. I just ran up some steps and I feel this way. Holy crap I am having a heart attack. Is this what angina feels like? Heh, heh, I said angina. Now that I just told myself I am having a heart attack I can feel my breath getting shorter. Wait a minute the pain in my arm is gone. Whew. Wait, now it is back. Try not to think about it. I wonder if someone in the office has Nitroglycerine tablets. How come Nitroglycerine tablets do not explode? Like in cartoons? Or is that TNT? Okay the pain in my arm is now gone but It still feels numb. I can hear my pulse. That is a good thing. That mean I have a pulse. But maybe that is a sign that my heart is working harder because it is under attack. My doctor did tell me I had high cholesterol. well not really high but elevated. Wow, now I can feel my back and shoulder blades cramping up. Okay maybe I am only having a panic attack. What are the symptoms of a panic attack? Let me Google it. S.y.s.m.t.o.m.s.o.f.p.a.n.i.c., Crap I spelled symptom wrong. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspacebackspacebackspacebackspacebackspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. m p.t.o.m.s.o.f.p.a.n.i.c.a.t.t.a.c.k. Enter. I should have just used the mouse I don’t know why I always delete the entire sentence or word instead of highlighting the mista… and here we go. Let’s see, symptoms are kind of the same as a heart attack. But wait I have numbness in my arm. Oh numbness in arm is a sign of a panic attack. I need to call 911. No if I call 911 and it’s only a panic attack I would feel foolish ahving an ambulance wisk me away from work. But if I die at my desk of a myocardial infarction, heh heh infarction, I would feel foolish. Well actually I would be dead so I guess I would not feel foolish. I am sweating. I am starting to feel lightheaded. Breathe. Breathe. Deep breath. No good. Still have chest pain. If I die Lauren is going to be so pissed. Now I am getting tunnel vision. Getting hard to swallow. Great now I am having a heart attack AND a panic attack. Maybe it is a panic attack. What if it is a heart attack? Fuck.”
I called my doctor and explained what I was feeling. They told me to come in right away. The office that I go to trains new physicians. I never really see the same doctor twice. The person on-call was a young female who seemed pretty sharp. She hooked me up to an EKG and immediately ruled out a heart attack. I immediately felt 100 times better. We went over my symptoms again and again. She reprimanded me for not going to the ER over the weekend when I first experienced the chest pain
“But it wasn’t my heart.” I said.
“But you did not know that at the time.” She responded. “What if it was?”
“But it wasn’t.”
“Next time you should go to the ER. It is better to be safe than sorry.”
"But it wasn't"
"You are closer to the higher risk heart attack age than you think."
Ouch. That hurt.
I started to argue with her but a nurse entered the exam room and handed the doctor my chart. She flipped the file open and started to read my history. I could feel my face flush. She was reading about my last visit. We spent the next few minutes in silence. She closed the chart with a flourish and smiled at me.
“There is nothing in here to indicate that you would have any heart issues.” She said.
We talked about anxiety and she did some reflex tests. The doctor ruled out a panic attack although she did think I talked myself into some of the symptoms (stupid internet). She then suggested I see a specialist who handles Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. It sounded serious, but it wasn’t.
The Thoracic guy sent me to an x-ray guy. The x-ray guy sent me to an MRI person. The MRI Person sent me to a nerve conduction woman. The nerve conduction woman stuck 2 inch needles into the muscles up and down my neck shoulder and left arm and sent electricity through them. She then sent me back to my regular doctor.
The final diagnosis is herniated discs in my neck, C3, C4, C5. Now, if I ever do have a real heart attack I am just going to think it is a pain in the neck.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Monster Squad
I prefer scary Halloween costumes over the super hero or movie character variety. I was very happy when Maxfield said he wanted to be a skeleton. I was even happier when our friend Kristan lent us a skeleton costume. Wyatt, who wanted to be Iron Man, and then a robot, and then Wolverine, made me happy when finally decided he wanted to be a mummy. Lauren took an old bed sheet, tea-stained it,tore it into pieces and zip-boom-viola, a cheap mummy costume. Lauren decided she would recycle an old Frankenstein costume for Jackson. Our Halloween costumes were cheap and scary, kind of like a "Fish-Town" hooker.
Here is the monster squad- Skeleton, Mummy, Frankenstein and the Blob.
Here is the monster squad- Skeleton, Mummy, Frankenstein and the Blob.Thursday, October 29, 2009
Book Review, kind of
I was 23 years old and I had just broken up with my girlfriend of a few years, when my roommate and friend, Rob, put on the song Murder of One by the Counting Crows. We got drunk on Rolling Rock at the local bar and listened to that CD all weekend. That song is a great song but, to me, it is even a better song because it reminds me a good time.
Lauren and I started to watch the show Lost in the fall of 2004. Max, who was only six months old at that time had just started to sleep through the night around that same time. Lauren and I would put Max to bed and make Lost a TV "date night". Lost is a great show but, to me, it is even a better show because it reminds me of a good time in my life where everything was falling into place.
A few weeks ago David Baldacci's, the NY Times Best selling author, publisher contacted me and asked that I review his latest book True Blue. I have read and heard good things about Baldacci's other books but I never have read any. I usually turn down book review opportunities because I am a slow reader. I also read slow. I can never finish a book by the deadline the publisher sets to turn in the review. I had just finished reading Outliers by Malcom Gladwell (what a really cool read) and I was looking for a new book. The publisher said they would send me a copy for free if I would give it an honest review on the blog. They also gave me a few weeks to read True Blue. I figured what the hell, and agreed to the arrangement. I figured I could read a few chapters every night.
The book arrived in the mail and I cracked the spine of Baldacci's True Blue some time in the first week of October. The story is about Mace, a cop, who was framed for a crime she did not commit. The first couple of chapters cover her getting out of prison and starting her investigation of who framed her. Without her badge and her gun she knows she will have a difficult time finding those that set her up. The book starts a little to slow for my liking but Baldacci does a nice job of making me want to see what happens next. Like, all of the sudden someone is killed and Mace finds herself investigating that murder as well.
Just as I was on a roll reading True Blue the story takes another twist. Not in the pages, but in MLB. The Phillies were in the playoffs and playing the Rockies. I watched every game with the book on my lap, glancing at the words between pitches. The Phils beat the Rockies in five games. I had a few more days to read more of the book.
Just when I got the part where Mace and Roy, her lawyer love interest, get shot at by gang members in a bad part of Washington DC (or was it gang bangers? Could be the FBI is also after Mace) the Phillies start the National League Championship series against the Dodgers. Again I sit with the book on my lap, glancing at pages, while watching the Phils take the Dodgers in five games. Baldacci's True Blue is in my hands when I jump up to celebrate the fact that the Phillies are going to the World Series for the second year in a row.
The week between the NLCS and the World Series I work really hard to finish the book. I have re-read a few chapters to refresh my memory. The story of Mace and Roy and Mace's sister who is also a cop takes a couple of twists as more bad guys surface and a homeless man is taking into custody for a murder he may or may not have committed.
I am about 250 pages into the book when the World Series starts. I am not really a superstitious person but I am sitting on the couch watching the Phillies with the book True Blue on my lap. Baldacci writes some interesting characters and the story is a good story so far. The book is a good book.
If the Phils, as my friend Charlotte in PA says, don't cock it up and win the World Series True Blue may just become an excellent book in my eyes.
Want to see the cutest mummy in the world? Click Here
Lauren and I started to watch the show Lost in the fall of 2004. Max, who was only six months old at that time had just started to sleep through the night around that same time. Lauren and I would put Max to bed and make Lost a TV "date night". Lost is a great show but, to me, it is even a better show because it reminds me of a good time in my life where everything was falling into place.
A few weeks ago David Baldacci's, the NY Times Best selling author, publisher contacted me and asked that I review his latest book True Blue. I have read and heard good things about Baldacci's other books but I never have read any. I usually turn down book review opportunities because I am a slow reader. I also read slow. I can never finish a book by the deadline the publisher sets to turn in the review. I had just finished reading Outliers by Malcom Gladwell (what a really cool read) and I was looking for a new book. The publisher said they would send me a copy for free if I would give it an honest review on the blog. They also gave me a few weeks to read True Blue. I figured what the hell, and agreed to the arrangement. I figured I could read a few chapters every night.
The book arrived in the mail and I cracked the spine of Baldacci's True Blue some time in the first week of October. The story is about Mace, a cop, who was framed for a crime she did not commit. The first couple of chapters cover her getting out of prison and starting her investigation of who framed her. Without her badge and her gun she knows she will have a difficult time finding those that set her up. The book starts a little to slow for my liking but Baldacci does a nice job of making me want to see what happens next. Like, all of the sudden someone is killed and Mace finds herself investigating that murder as well.
Just as I was on a roll reading True Blue the story takes another twist. Not in the pages, but in MLB. The Phillies were in the playoffs and playing the Rockies. I watched every game with the book on my lap, glancing at the words between pitches. The Phils beat the Rockies in five games. I had a few more days to read more of the book.
Just when I got the part where Mace and Roy, her lawyer love interest, get shot at by gang members in a bad part of Washington DC (or was it gang bangers? Could be the FBI is also after Mace) the Phillies start the National League Championship series against the Dodgers. Again I sit with the book on my lap, glancing at pages, while watching the Phils take the Dodgers in five games. Baldacci's True Blue is in my hands when I jump up to celebrate the fact that the Phillies are going to the World Series for the second year in a row.
The week between the NLCS and the World Series I work really hard to finish the book. I have re-read a few chapters to refresh my memory. The story of Mace and Roy and Mace's sister who is also a cop takes a couple of twists as more bad guys surface and a homeless man is taking into custody for a murder he may or may not have committed.
I am about 250 pages into the book when the World Series starts. I am not really a superstitious person but I am sitting on the couch watching the Phillies with the book True Blue on my lap. Baldacci writes some interesting characters and the story is a good story so far. The book is a good book.
If the Phils, as my friend Charlotte in PA says, don't cock it up and win the World Series True Blue may just become an excellent book in my eyes.
Want to see the cutest mummy in the world? Click Here
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Inspiration and Intimidation
I have been in a funk.
It all started when we took the kids to go see Where the Wild Things Are two weeks ago. Lauren said the movie (the emotional undertones) depressed her. I left the theater feeling inspired. Visually the movie is stunning and the characters are well developed with excellent acting. Seeing a film like that makes me want to create, to be a better storyteller, to be a better writer. Then I became intimidated because I know that I will never be able to tell a story like that.
In the book and in the film there is the line “I’ll eat you up. I love you so.”
Did you ever see someone so cute you just want to squish and scrunch up their face and eat it? Like a toddlers plump round cheeks just need to be squeezed and pinched even though you know that in the back of your head you may be pinching the kid’s cheek just a bit too hard, but you don’t care, because oh my gosh, he is so cute you just want to eat him up and you can’t help yourself. Then you realize you may not be able to control yourself and you may actually eat the cuteness and so to be safe you stay away and try not to look.
I have been trying to figure out a way I can take this blog to the next level. What that level is I am not sure. Blogs have kind of gone out of fashion with most people finding their online voices through Facebook and Twitter. I do both, but they are not the same to me as writing or reading a blog post. I don’t find Twitter or FB inspiring. I am inspired by people whose blog writing, photography, style or just their outlook on life makes me want to do better as a person and as a writer. You can’t get that from 140 characters.
Lately I have been inspired by bloggers like The Bloggess, BHJ, Whit, and The Pioneer Woman. I have been reading each of these bloggers for a while now (Pioneer Woman for a few years) and I have come to the conclusions that these people are just flat out excellent at the craft of blogging. I do follow them on Twitter but it is their blog posts inspire me to be a better writer, a better storyteller.
When I compare what I write here to what they write at their spaces I get intimidated. Sometimes I look at what I consider their success and I feel that maybe I should give up on the whole blogging thing.
Inspiration; I want to tell stories like they do.
Intimidation; I know that I could never tell stories like that.
Inspiration and Intimidation.
I want to eat them up but then I find it better to take a break and stay away. Stay away from reading and stay away from writing.
I try not to look.
I am inspired. I am intimidated. Mostly inspired.
It all started when we took the kids to go see Where the Wild Things Are two weeks ago. Lauren said the movie (the emotional undertones) depressed her. I left the theater feeling inspired. Visually the movie is stunning and the characters are well developed with excellent acting. Seeing a film like that makes me want to create, to be a better storyteller, to be a better writer. Then I became intimidated because I know that I will never be able to tell a story like that.
In the book and in the film there is the line “I’ll eat you up. I love you so.”
Did you ever see someone so cute you just want to squish and scrunch up their face and eat it? Like a toddlers plump round cheeks just need to be squeezed and pinched even though you know that in the back of your head you may be pinching the kid’s cheek just a bit too hard, but you don’t care, because oh my gosh, he is so cute you just want to eat him up and you can’t help yourself. Then you realize you may not be able to control yourself and you may actually eat the cuteness and so to be safe you stay away and try not to look.
I have been trying to figure out a way I can take this blog to the next level. What that level is I am not sure. Blogs have kind of gone out of fashion with most people finding their online voices through Facebook and Twitter. I do both, but they are not the same to me as writing or reading a blog post. I don’t find Twitter or FB inspiring. I am inspired by people whose blog writing, photography, style or just their outlook on life makes me want to do better as a person and as a writer. You can’t get that from 140 characters.
Lately I have been inspired by bloggers like The Bloggess, BHJ, Whit, and The Pioneer Woman. I have been reading each of these bloggers for a while now (Pioneer Woman for a few years) and I have come to the conclusions that these people are just flat out excellent at the craft of blogging. I do follow them on Twitter but it is their blog posts inspire me to be a better writer, a better storyteller.
When I compare what I write here to what they write at their spaces I get intimidated. Sometimes I look at what I consider their success and I feel that maybe I should give up on the whole blogging thing.
Inspiration; I want to tell stories like they do.
Intimidation; I know that I could never tell stories like that.
Inspiration and Intimidation.
I want to eat them up but then I find it better to take a break and stay away. Stay away from reading and stay away from writing.
I try not to look.
I am inspired. I am intimidated. Mostly inspired.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Neighborhood Watch
This morning, as I walked to my car, I a folded flier tucked behind the flag on my mail box. I scanned the street to see if there were pieces of paper sticking out from other mailboxes. I thought it strange that my mailbox was the only one to receive some type of solicitation in the middle of the night.
The flier is from my township's Neighborhood Watch Program inviting me to volunteer. Part of it reads "volunteers patrol our neighborhoods on foot...between 8 and 10 each evening." It also states that "volunteers assist the police department" and that "training will be provided".
It did not say anything about them providing uniforms or costumes, which is okay because I am sure Lauren will make me something if I join.
I am going to need to take a break from the Internet and blogging for a few days while I work on my utility belt.
What kind of weapons should I make? What kind of superhero name should I give myself? Help me out.
While I am gone try these other cool blogs.
The Bloggess
Fadkog
Homefires
Creative Type Dad
Sci Fi Dad
Honea Express
the Meanest Mom
BHJ
The flier is from my township's Neighborhood Watch Program inviting me to volunteer. Part of it reads "volunteers patrol our neighborhoods on foot...between 8 and 10 each evening." It also states that "volunteers assist the police department" and that "training will be provided".
It did not say anything about them providing uniforms or costumes, which is okay because I am sure Lauren will make me something if I join.
I am going to need to take a break from the Internet and blogging for a few days while I work on my utility belt.
What kind of weapons should I make? What kind of superhero name should I give myself? Help me out.
While I am gone try these other cool blogs.
The Bloggess
Fadkog
Homefires
Creative Type Dad
Sci Fi Dad
Honea Express
the Meanest Mom
BHJ
Monday, October 19, 2009
Jealous
Lauren and I (mostly Lauren) are in the middle of Begatting our living room. We (she) are doing it in stages. We tore up the carpet to find beautiful hardwood floors which begat taking out the old base molding which will begat adding new molding etc, etc. We hope to make some "built-in" bookshelves and create a new computer/office space.In preparation for the project the whole family went to Lowe's to pick up supplies. The first ten or so minutes went well until the kids started getting antsy. Lauren and I agreed that I would find ways to entertain the kids while she finished the shopping. The kids became even more rambunctious. Max wanted to ride in the cart which begat Wyatt wanting to ride in the cart. There was not enough room for both so I told Max he had to walk which begat him crying and having a temper tantrum which begat Wyatt having an attitude and causing both kids to argue with each other which begat me to become extremely agitated.
I decided to take the kids to see the Christmas decorations in Lowe's (yep Christmas decorations in early October) hoping that that would make everyone happy. As we passed the paint aisle I saw Lauren at the other end talking to the Paint Guy. He was all smiley and flirty with Lauren. I called down to Lauren to let he know I was going to the decorations. It took me five or six tries to get her attention. When she finally looked up I told her where to meet us in the store.
The Christmas decorations turned out to put everyone in a worse mood because Max told me he wanted the new Geo-Trax Timbertown Railway for Christmas which begat Wyatt saying he wanted the new Geo-Trax Timbertown Railway, which begat Max telling Wyatt he could not ask for the same thing, which begat a battle of "yes-I-can-No-you-can't". Anyone familiar with YIC-NYC battle knows that the volume gradually increases 10 decibels with each volley. When the kids hit about 120 dB I had had enough and hurried them to the front door where Lauren was finished making her purchases and we left.
Both kids were upset that we did not see all of the decorations and they started to whine and cry. Lauren and I did our best to ignore them as we drove away. Lauren could tell my nerves were shot. She had to raise her voice over the volume of the crying in the back of the mini-van to ask me what happened
While you were flirting with the Paint Guy, these two" I said pointing to the back seat and loud enough for her to hear me, "decided to throw fits.
I then announced that because of their behavior we were going home and not to the toy store like we originally planned. The boys cried louder. We tried to ignore them.
"I was not flirting with the Paint Guy." Lauren yelled back over the noise of the boys. She rolled her eyes
"Well he was flirting with you." I hollered back
"No he wasn't"
"Yes he was. With his short sleeved maroon apron showing off his tatooed bi-ceps. He was flirting
"Oh my gosh." Lauren yelled tyring to over power the sound of the crying. "I can't believe you are jealous of the Paint Guy
"I am." I shouted back.
"You are? Really? " Lauren asked.
"Yes. I am jealous that he is back in the store and I am sitting here listening to these kids screaming."
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Rules
When I was a kid, the Number One Rule, set down by my dad, in our house was "Don't hit your brother." It was good rule since there were 8 boys in the house (There was never a need for the rule "don't hit your sister" because my parents knew that all of the boys were afraid of my sister). There were other rules (some self explanatory, others were family rules) that were enforced like, "Be home at 5." "Don't talk back to your mother." "No ball in the house." "Quiet time." Etc. Etc. But on the list of rules they all fell below the Number One Rule (not that there was an actual written list of rules, all rules in our House were just known) .
We broke the number one rule many times. Most of the physical fights amongst the brothers were of the nature of wrestling or some type of rugby scrum, until someone "gave-up". But every now and then, during one of the altercations, someone, somehow, would break the rule. An errant fist would fly and make contact. All hell would break loose and we all knew that dad was going to be pissed when he found out. It was the Number One Rule.
Now that I am raising boys of my own I realize that I too have to implement a list of rules of the house. Right now, the Number One Rule is "Don't hit your brother." Boys are boys and they like to fight. It is a good rule. I think it gets broken everyday.
Here is the list of other rules we set down.
We broke the number one rule many times. Most of the physical fights amongst the brothers were of the nature of wrestling or some type of rugby scrum, until someone "gave-up". But every now and then, during one of the altercations, someone, somehow, would break the rule. An errant fist would fly and make contact. All hell would break loose and we all knew that dad was going to be pissed when he found out. It was the Number One Rule.
Now that I am raising boys of my own I realize that I too have to implement a list of rules of the house. Right now, the Number One Rule is "Don't hit your brother." Boys are boys and they like to fight. It is a good rule. I think it gets broken everyday.
Here is the list of other rules we set down.
2.-Everyone must wear pants to eat dinner at the dinner table.
3.-No picking your butt.
4.-Everyone must wear pants to eat lunch at the table.
5.-Use a tissue
6.-No jumping on the furniture.
7.-Put your shoes in the closet.
8.- Everyone must wear pants to eat breakfast at the table.
9.-Lillian can not use the telephone.
10.-No throwing toys.
After reviewing my list I think I need to re-evaluate my Number One Rule.
What is your Number One Rule at your house?
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Brotherly Love
Lauren and I were at a wedding reception, sitting at a large table, talking with a bunch of friends when another friend's (who was not at the wedding) name came up.
"I love him like a brother." I said proudly.
"Well that's not a big deal." joked one of the guys across the table. "You have like 8 brothers."
"Exactly." I said as the table became quiet. "Let me put it this way. I love him enough to let him pee between my legs if he really really had to go and I was sitting on the only toilet in the house and the tub and the sink were occupied."
Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.
I leaned over to Lauren and said under the noise of the laughs "Did I just reveal too much information about how it was growing up in a large family?"
"I love him like a brother." I said proudly.
"Well that's not a big deal." joked one of the guys across the table. "You have like 8 brothers."
"Exactly." I said as the table became quiet. "Let me put it this way. I love him enough to let him pee between my legs if he really really had to go and I was sitting on the only toilet in the house and the tub and the sink were occupied."
Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.
I leaned over to Lauren and said under the noise of the laughs "Did I just reveal too much information about how it was growing up in a large family?"
Monday, October 12, 2009
Family Snapshot
There is a picture of Lauren, Maxfield, and Wyatt hanging in my cube at work. The picture was taken on a perfect day two years ago, on our trip to the pumpkin patch. I loved the picture so much that Lauren had the photo enlarged and framed and gave it to me for Christmas.
This past weekend we decided to go to the pumpkin patch. I told Lauren I wanted to take some pictures of the family (now with the addition of Jackson) to replace (update) the one hanging by my desk.
Within 5 minutes of arriving at the pumpkin patch I discovered that Lauren forgot to put the camera card into the camera. This was going to limit the number of pictures we would be able to take to about 12. I am the type of person who will take 100 pictures of the same thing just to get a decent photo. Without the camera card, getting a family picture was going to be difficult.
Within ten minutes of arriving at the pumpkin festival I was stung by a bee on my thigh. It hurt a lot.
With in twenty minutes of arriving at the pumpkin festival Max cut his finger. It bled for a bit. Within 30 seconds of that, I put Purell on his hands because he was just petting farm animals. The Purell in the cut hurt a lot. Like 140 decibels a lot.
My leg, where I was stung, hurt so much that I told Lauren that maybe I was bitten by some kind of rare Pumpkin Spider and that I may die. She basically told me to "man-up".
After a frustrating far trek trying to push Wyatt in a wheelbarrow and Jackson in a stroller over mud, smashed gourds, stalks, stems and tractor ruts out into the patch I was ready to stop and take the family picture.
We were all in a "mood".
Max was mad that we did not pick out any pumpkins yet.
Wyatt was mad that we wanted to put Jackson in the wheelbarrow with him.
Lauren was mad at me for complaining that my leg was stung by a swarm of killer bees and bitten by a tarantula.
Jackson was mad about the bumpy ride.
I was mad that I only had a few pictures left on the camera card.
In picture one, Lauren is asking Max to remove his sunglasses for the photo. Max refuses because he wants to pick pumpkins. Wyatt sees an opening and figures he can get rid of Jackson. Max gives Lauren attitude and she starts to correct him.
This past weekend we decided to go to the pumpkin patch. I told Lauren I wanted to take some pictures of the family (now with the addition of Jackson) to replace (update) the one hanging by my desk.
Within 5 minutes of arriving at the pumpkin patch I discovered that Lauren forgot to put the camera card into the camera. This was going to limit the number of pictures we would be able to take to about 12. I am the type of person who will take 100 pictures of the same thing just to get a decent photo. Without the camera card, getting a family picture was going to be difficult.
Within ten minutes of arriving at the pumpkin festival I was stung by a bee on my thigh. It hurt a lot.
With in twenty minutes of arriving at the pumpkin festival Max cut his finger. It bled for a bit. Within 30 seconds of that, I put Purell on his hands because he was just petting farm animals. The Purell in the cut hurt a lot. Like 140 decibels a lot.
My leg, where I was stung, hurt so much that I told Lauren that maybe I was bitten by some kind of rare Pumpkin Spider and that I may die. She basically told me to "man-up".
After a frustrating far trek trying to push Wyatt in a wheelbarrow and Jackson in a stroller over mud, smashed gourds, stalks, stems and tractor ruts out into the patch I was ready to stop and take the family picture.
We were all in a "mood".
Max was mad that we did not pick out any pumpkins yet.
Wyatt was mad that we wanted to put Jackson in the wheelbarrow with him.
Lauren was mad at me for complaining that my leg was stung by a swarm of killer bees and bitten by a tarantula.
Jackson was mad about the bumpy ride.
I was mad that I only had a few pictures left on the camera card.
In picture one, Lauren is asking Max to remove his sunglasses for the photo. Max refuses because he wants to pick pumpkins. Wyatt sees an opening and figures he can get rid of Jackson. Max gives Lauren attitude and she starts to correct him.
In picture two, Max is still giving attitude to his mother. Lauren is telling him he better "knock it off." Meanwhile Wyatt goes in for the kill which really upsets Jackson.
With only one more picture left on the camera I started to laugh at the whole scene. Everyone stopped and looked at me to see what I was laughing at. I yelled "Say cheese!" which gave me the pic I was looking for, picture number three.
I really am the luckiest.
I can't decide which one I want enlarged to replace the one at my desk. Which one would you pick?
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Cow Lick
So I posted this picture,last month, about how I looked in kindergarten. I am shocked and awed at how my parents let me go to school looking that way. I dug out some more pictures from elementary school.
First grade. Notice the Cow Lick on the back of my head.
Fourth Grade- Look closely, same Cow Lick.
Fifth Grade-ummm....very close to sporting a...ummm...seriously what the hell is up with my hair? No wonder I am very vain about how my hair looks now.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
I call you out
"I call you out! Behind the church!" was how my fellow classmates in elementary school handled disputes.
Being "called out" meant someone wanted to fight you. "Behind the church" meant they wanted to fight you behind the little red brick church that was at the end of the school property. Even at an early age I felt it somewhat ironic that the kids in my school settled their differences through physical violence behind a church. Kids were "called-out" for the strangest reasons. One may have disrespected someone on the kick ball field; they were "called out." One may have said something mean about another kid's mom; they were "called out." Stuff like that.
Usually it was the bully "calling out" the weaker kids in an effort to boost their street cred and keep up with the scare tactics. Nine out of ten times the bully "called-out" other kids because he was embarrassed and hurt by something that was said or done to him. The main reason for "calling out" someone was to save face, make a point and to prove that you were better than someone.
I never called any out and I was never "called out". I was friends with Steve L, who was pretty tough, and Colin, who, as far as I am concerned was the (pronounced thee) toughest kid I ever knew. Colin was also the funniest kid and most of the other kids in our class did not know how to take him. Maybe they thought he was crazy like Murdock from the A-Team so no one wanted to mess with him. Since I was his buddy, they did not want to mess with me.
I also had four older brothers. The other kids, the ones that would want to beat me up because I made a joke about them, would say to me, "I would call you out but I don't think it would be fair because I am sure your brothers would just jump in and save you."
----------------------------------------------------------
I have been Maxfield's best friend for three-fifths of his life. For the past three years, if you asked my oldest son who he wanted to hang-out with for any occasion, any event, he would say, "Dad." I have always relished in the fact that Max would choose me over anyone else. It warms my heart knowing that he likes his dad.
My wife, Lauren, had another art show this past weekend (or as Wyatt, my three year old, likes to say "arts and Crabs.") She was going to be gone most of the day and I was looking forward to hanging out with my three boys. We planned a day of playing in the backyard to be followed by watching football and eating snacks that are not healthy for us. After Wyatt and Jackson would go down for their afternoon naps Max and I would play checkers or Uno. It was going to be a good day.
Then Kenny, a kid Max's age who lives up the street, stopped by with his mom. Kenny's mom asked if she could take Max with her and Kenny and Kenny's older brothers, who are eight years old, to the pumpkin patch. I asked Max what he wanted to do figuring he would rather stay with me. Max chose to go with Kenny. I couldn't believe it. I was a bit heartbroken.
Being "called out" meant someone wanted to fight you. "Behind the church" meant they wanted to fight you behind the little red brick church that was at the end of the school property. Even at an early age I felt it somewhat ironic that the kids in my school settled their differences through physical violence behind a church. Kids were "called-out" for the strangest reasons. One may have disrespected someone on the kick ball field; they were "called out." One may have said something mean about another kid's mom; they were "called out." Stuff like that.
Usually it was the bully "calling out" the weaker kids in an effort to boost their street cred and keep up with the scare tactics. Nine out of ten times the bully "called-out" other kids because he was embarrassed and hurt by something that was said or done to him. The main reason for "calling out" someone was to save face, make a point and to prove that you were better than someone.
I never called any out and I was never "called out". I was friends with Steve L, who was pretty tough, and Colin, who, as far as I am concerned was the (pronounced thee) toughest kid I ever knew. Colin was also the funniest kid and most of the other kids in our class did not know how to take him. Maybe they thought he was crazy like Murdock from the A-Team so no one wanted to mess with him. Since I was his buddy, they did not want to mess with me.
I also had four older brothers. The other kids, the ones that would want to beat me up because I made a joke about them, would say to me, "I would call you out but I don't think it would be fair because I am sure your brothers would just jump in and save you."
----------------------------------------------------------
I have been Maxfield's best friend for three-fifths of his life. For the past three years, if you asked my oldest son who he wanted to hang-out with for any occasion, any event, he would say, "Dad." I have always relished in the fact that Max would choose me over anyone else. It warms my heart knowing that he likes his dad.
My wife, Lauren, had another art show this past weekend (or as Wyatt, my three year old, likes to say "arts and Crabs.") She was going to be gone most of the day and I was looking forward to hanging out with my three boys. We planned a day of playing in the backyard to be followed by watching football and eating snacks that are not healthy for us. After Wyatt and Jackson would go down for their afternoon naps Max and I would play checkers or Uno. It was going to be a good day.
Then Kenny, a kid Max's age who lives up the street, stopped by with his mom. Kenny's mom asked if she could take Max with her and Kenny and Kenny's older brothers, who are eight years old, to the pumpkin patch. I asked Max what he wanted to do figuring he would rather stay with me. Max chose to go with Kenny. I couldn't believe it. I was a bit heartbroken.
Max, I think, has a new best friend.
I am ready to call him out.
But Kenny's older brothers would probably jump in and save him.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Last Quarter
At the beginning of the year I wrote this post about what I wanted to write about in 2009. As I mentioned in that post some of the stuff already happened and I just needed to write about them. The other topics were stories I knew would happen or that I was hoping would happen. Below is the same list from that post back in January with links to the actual post and/or a quick explanation.
A new baby story --Here. I never did write the complete story but Lauren did here. I kind of knew this was going to happen since Lauren was pregnant and all.
a guest post by my brother Anonymous--I asked him two months ago. He said he would send me something. He must not have my email address.
stories about me meeting other bloggers that I never met before --I had no idea I was going to meet other bloggers and I was pleasantly surprised that the opportunities came up-Here and Here . There is till time this year to meet others that I linked from my post in January.
my 1000th post -- Cooler than David Boreanz
Bathroom Begats -The details of this project are still not completed even though the bulk of the work was done last December. I still have to do some spackling, painting and minor floor work.
my 500,000 visitor --Cooler Than David Boreanz
a story about me winning the lottery --I still have my fingers crossed.
Stories about Maxfield entering Kindergarten--Here. Seriously click on that link. I have been told that people go to that post if they are feeling down and it instantly cheers them up.
I Could Have Been a Contender parts 4 and 5 -I hope to write these over the next few weeks.
Wyatt going to pre-school--Here
the vibrating testicle story --Any decent testicle story needs to be told in two parts. Part ONE and Part TWO.
being in a play -Only half complete. I am cast in a show which is scheduled for performances next March.
meeting someone famous--I had no idea at the beginning of the year I would be meeting celebrities. -Here and Here and also I met this writer.
nerve conduction study -This happened last year I have not yet written the story. I still don't know the outcome.
how advertisers keep asking to pay me --I have some advertisers. Not much but I have some. I am still waiting for the big one (That's what she said).
a book deal --Clearly I am not a writer.
lose 15 pounds-- I have three months to go.
My Dad and the assistant principle-I will write this story by year's end.
I win fantasy football --I am in two leagues. I am 0-3 with players like Drew Brees, Colston and Dallas Clarke in my work league. I can't figure it out. I am 2-1 in my other league. We'll see. C'mon Drew Brees.
Tripling my readership--Not yet, but someone did start a fan club and Dr. Phil reads me (no really he does). If I can get more readers then I am sure I will get more advertisers.
Poop and Boogies turns Four--Clearly I am not a writer.
LawnWhisperer returns--He is waiting for reader demand.
I write a screenplay --I am actually working on this. In my mind.
finish begatting my man space --I have better chance at completing the next thing on the list.
Take photos of UFO,Bigfoot,alien,or ghost --I have a better chance at completing the prior thing on my list.
guest post from Momo9 --She read this so I think she will send me something to post.
get invited to speak at some blog convention--I do not think this is going to happen.
win an award--Still have a couple of months for this. Someone nominate me for something. Anything.
Thank you to everyone who stops by here on a regular basis to read Poop and Boogies.
A new baby story --Here. I never did write the complete story but Lauren did here. I kind of knew this was going to happen since Lauren was pregnant and all.
a guest post by my brother Anonymous--I asked him two months ago. He said he would send me something. He must not have my email address.
stories about me meeting other bloggers that I never met before --I had no idea I was going to meet other bloggers and I was pleasantly surprised that the opportunities came up-Here and Here . There is till time this year to meet others that I linked from my post in January.
my 1000th post -- Cooler than David Boreanz
Bathroom Begats -The details of this project are still not completed even though the bulk of the work was done last December. I still have to do some spackling, painting and minor floor work.
my 500,000 visitor --Cooler Than David Boreanz
a story about me winning the lottery --I still have my fingers crossed.
Stories about Maxfield entering Kindergarten--Here. Seriously click on that link. I have been told that people go to that post if they are feeling down and it instantly cheers them up.
I Could Have Been a Contender parts 4 and 5 -I hope to write these over the next few weeks.
Wyatt going to pre-school--Here
the vibrating testicle story --Any decent testicle story needs to be told in two parts. Part ONE and Part TWO.
being in a play -Only half complete. I am cast in a show which is scheduled for performances next March.
meeting someone famous--I had no idea at the beginning of the year I would be meeting celebrities. -Here and Here and also I met this writer.
nerve conduction study -This happened last year I have not yet written the story. I still don't know the outcome.
how advertisers keep asking to pay me --I have some advertisers. Not much but I have some. I am still waiting for the big one (That's what she said).
a book deal --Clearly I am not a writer.
lose 15 pounds-- I have three months to go.
My Dad and the assistant principle-I will write this story by year's end.
I win fantasy football --I am in two leagues. I am 0-3 with players like Drew Brees, Colston and Dallas Clarke in my work league. I can't figure it out. I am 2-1 in my other league. We'll see. C'mon Drew Brees.
Tripling my readership--Not yet, but someone did start a fan club and Dr. Phil reads me (no really he does). If I can get more readers then I am sure I will get more advertisers.
Poop and Boogies turns Four--Clearly I am not a writer.
LawnWhisperer returns--He is waiting for reader demand.
I write a screenplay --I am actually working on this. In my mind.
finish begatting my man space --I have better chance at completing the next thing on the list.
Take photos of UFO,Bigfoot,alien,or ghost --I have a better chance at completing the prior thing on my list.
guest post from Momo9 --She read this so I think she will send me something to post.
get invited to speak at some blog convention--I do not think this is going to happen.
win an award--Still have a couple of months for this. Someone nominate me for something. Anything.
Thank you to everyone who stops by here on a regular basis to read Poop and Boogies.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
My Prom Date Jason Sehorn
When I took Jackson to NY last week for the Huggies/ KaBOOM event I had the opportunity to meet Jason Sehorn. Jason Sehorn is a former defensive back for the NY Giants and also the husband of Angie Harmon. We were two of only a handful of men that attended the event. While his wife was being interviewed by the press I made a bee line for Jason and introduced myself. He was very nice and friendly. He seemed genuinely interested in talking to me and we talked for about football for about 5 minutes. In an area that was filled with women and babies it was nice to have a good macho man to man conversation about my favorite sport.
Knowing that my brothers, who all consider me the non-athlete of the family, would never believe that I met and spoke to a professional football player I asked Torrie, another blogger attending the event, to take our picture. As Jackson, Jason and I struck our pose, Jackson got all squirmy and turned away from the camera. Instead of forcing Jackson around and having him look all ticked off for the photo, I simply turned my body the other way. Jason put his hand on my shoulder and we waited for Torrie to take the picture. Torrie asked that we hold the pose so she could take another with a different camera setting. Then someone from the Edelman group,the people who hosted the whole thing, asked us to stay in the pose so they too could snap a shot. We stood there for seem like a really long time.
The end result kind of reminds me of my prom picture.
A bigger picture can be found at Torrie's Flickr site here. And check out this pic of Jackson. He is so cute and should be the spokesbaby for Huggies. Thanks Torrie.
Knowing that my brothers, who all consider me the non-athlete of the family, would never believe that I met and spoke to a professional football player I asked Torrie, another blogger attending the event, to take our picture. As Jackson, Jason and I struck our pose, Jackson got all squirmy and turned away from the camera. Instead of forcing Jackson around and having him look all ticked off for the photo, I simply turned my body the other way. Jason put his hand on my shoulder and we waited for Torrie to take the picture. Torrie asked that we hold the pose so she could take another with a different camera setting. Then someone from the Edelman group,the people who hosted the whole thing, asked us to stay in the pose so they too could snap a shot. We stood there for seem like a really long time.
The end result kind of reminds me of my prom picture.
A bigger picture can be found at Torrie's Flickr site here. And check out this pic of Jackson. He is so cute and should be the spokesbaby for Huggies. Thanks Torrie.
Monday, September 28, 2009
As seen on Dr. Phil ('s website)
Last Thursday I noticed in my Statcounter, that someone from the Dr. Phil show visited Poop and Boogies. I did not think too much about it although I did mention it to my wife Lauren. After some clicks and research we saw that the next show was from an Amtrak train. I just took an Amtrak train to the Huggies event I attended and I assumed someone from Dr. Phil's production company found my site through some type of Google search.
On Friday I checked my Statcounter and I saw a bunch of visits from Dr. Phil's website. They were coming from here.
Holy crap! Dr. Phil was recommending my site. I, of course, immediately posted that on my Facebook and Twitter pages. I read through the Dr. Phil website to see why. Apparently Dr. Phil was giving some advice to a new dad and encouraged him to start his own website. If you read the paragraph where Poop and Boogies is mentioned, it reads as if P&B is some kind of group support site for fathers. This was pointed out to me by several people (naysayers) on Facebook and Twitter that the Dr Phil people got it wrong because P and B is not a support site. But, you see, I saw the glass as half full and I read it as Dr. Phil encouraging the new dad to start his own website and P&B is one example of such a website. Someone at Dr. Phil knows about P & B. (Hi Email me.)
After reading the paragraph a few times it struck me that there was a possibility that Dr. Phil would, maybe, mention the name of this site on his show. I wondered how Poop and Boogies would sound with his Texas drawl. I spent a better part of the day daydreaming about what would happen if he does mention the blog on his show. I would be kind of like famous. I would be approached by all kinds of advertisers wanting to pay me for space on my blog. I could tell people that Dr. Phil himself reads and recommends my blog (which, you know, he probably does). Dr. Phil got his start on Oprah and I could get my start by being on his show. I was going places. The Poop and Boogies Show has such a nice ring to it. My dad would be so proud.
I DVRed the show and I watched the segment about the new father. The New Dad tells Dr. Phil that there are so many Mommy sites out there for women, by women, but that there are not too many by men. And just as Dr. Phil is about to mention some sites by men, his wife Robin interrupts the conversation to gush over the cuteness of the New Dad's baby. They then go to commercial and come back to a different segment.
So, Robin McGraw, Dr. Phil's wife, destroyed all my hopes of being famous by having Poop and Boogies mentioned on national television.
Does any one know anybody over at the Ellen show?
On Friday I checked my Statcounter and I saw a bunch of visits from Dr. Phil's website. They were coming from here.
Holy crap! Dr. Phil was recommending my site. I, of course, immediately posted that on my Facebook and Twitter pages. I read through the Dr. Phil website to see why. Apparently Dr. Phil was giving some advice to a new dad and encouraged him to start his own website. If you read the paragraph where Poop and Boogies is mentioned, it reads as if P&B is some kind of group support site for fathers. This was pointed out to me by several people (naysayers) on Facebook and Twitter that the Dr Phil people got it wrong because P and B is not a support site. But, you see, I saw the glass as half full and I read it as Dr. Phil encouraging the new dad to start his own website and P&B is one example of such a website. Someone at Dr. Phil knows about P & B. (Hi Email me.)
After reading the paragraph a few times it struck me that there was a possibility that Dr. Phil would, maybe, mention the name of this site on his show. I wondered how Poop and Boogies would sound with his Texas drawl. I spent a better part of the day daydreaming about what would happen if he does mention the blog on his show. I would be kind of like famous. I would be approached by all kinds of advertisers wanting to pay me for space on my blog. I could tell people that Dr. Phil himself reads and recommends my blog (which, you know, he probably does). Dr. Phil got his start on Oprah and I could get my start by being on his show. I was going places. The Poop and Boogies Show has such a nice ring to it. My dad would be so proud.
I DVRed the show and I watched the segment about the new father. The New Dad tells Dr. Phil that there are so many Mommy sites out there for women, by women, but that there are not too many by men. And just as Dr. Phil is about to mention some sites by men, his wife Robin interrupts the conversation to gush over the cuteness of the New Dad's baby. They then go to commercial and come back to a different segment.
So, Robin McGraw, Dr. Phil's wife, destroyed all my hopes of being famous by having Poop and Boogies mentioned on national television.
Does any one know anybody over at the Ellen show?
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Trainer
Potty training Wyatt has been a breeze. I guess training the second kid is always easier; Lauren and I know what tricks, signs to look for, and motivation worked with Max. Wyatt also has the advantage of having his older brother teaching him the ropes when it comes to using the john.
The best motivator Lauren and I have found is using treatsas a reward. Wyatt gets three miniature marshmallows if he pees on the potty and he gets five Skittles if he poops on the potty. We make a big deal of the "event" offering congratulations, high fives and words of encouragement while announcing to the house that Wyatt went either pee or poop. Then we divvy out the candy.
Maxfield also participates in the celebration and he too also gets pee or poop treats (you can't give candy to one kid and not the other). Max is now treating Wyatt's bowel movements as some kind of currency at a vending machine. He has figured out the quickest way to get sweets is to talk Wyatt into using the bathroom. And when Wyatt goes, Max is there in the bathroom cheering him on. Max has become quite the "corner man" in the bathroom.
"C'mon Wyatt. You can do it. Are you peeing? Maybe you should poop? We can get Skittles if you poop. C'mon Wyatt, poop! Skittles Wyatt. Skitttttles."
Max has become the Micky to Wyatt's Rocky.
"You're gonna eat lightnin; you're gonna crap thunder."
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Jackson Takes NY
I posted yesterday about how Jackson was invited to New York, by Huggies, for an event promoting their new line of Little Mover Diapers as well as an auction to raise money for KaBOOM. The live auction, held at Madison Square park, auctioned off two pairs (or is it two pair? I don't know) of Huggies sneakers signed by Angie Harmon and Jason Sehorn. Both Angie and Jason attended the auction. There are other celebrities, like Jenny McCarthy and Tori Spelling (start bidding Sue) signing shoes that will be sold on ebay to raise money for KaBOOM.
We had a blast. The people at Edelman, Huggies PR company, did a great job with the event.
Jackson and I took the train from Philly to NY on Monday night and we had dinner with some other bloggers that were also invited. I was familiar with some of the blogs but not all of them. We did the whole "go around the table and introduce yourself" kind of thing. When it came around to me I made my intros and told everyone that I had Poop and Boogies business cards to hand out and exchange with the other blogger's business cards. Guess who was the only dork to bring business cards? Yup. Me. Either I really am a nerd for copying and pasting my P&B header, along with my contact info, and printing them on Avery 8879 size biz cards, or none of the other bloggers wanted to trade with me. Either way, dorkish.
Tuesday morning, prior to the auction, Jackson and I took some time to walk around Manhattan.
We walked down Madison Ave.
We also stopped in some parks before we met the other bloggers and the Edelman people for breakfast and some feedback about diapers. During breakfast I mistook a little bowl filled with white granules and a spoon as sugar and I salted my coffee. I nearly spit the coffee on the person sitting across from me. I then needed to explain to the waiter that I needed more coffee because I was an idiot and put salt in my coffee. During our Q and A with the PR people I only said "whore" once (although I may have said hooker I can't remember) and I handed out more business cards because I had so many to give away. I make very good first impressions on people. 
We had a blast. The people at Edelman, Huggies PR company, did a great job with the event.
Jackson and I took the train from Philly to NY on Monday night and we had dinner with some other bloggers that were also invited. I was familiar with some of the blogs but not all of them. We did the whole "go around the table and introduce yourself" kind of thing. When it came around to me I made my intros and told everyone that I had Poop and Boogies business cards to hand out and exchange with the other blogger's business cards. Guess who was the only dork to bring business cards? Yup. Me. Either I really am a nerd for copying and pasting my P&B header, along with my contact info, and printing them on Avery 8879 size biz cards, or none of the other bloggers wanted to trade with me. Either way, dorkish.
Tuesday morning, prior to the auction, Jackson and I took some time to walk around Manhattan.
We walked down Madison Ave.
We also stopped in some parks before we met the other bloggers and the Edelman people for breakfast and some feedback about diapers. During breakfast I mistook a little bowl filled with white granules and a spoon as sugar and I salted my coffee. I nearly spit the coffee on the person sitting across from me. I then needed to explain to the waiter that I needed more coffee because I was an idiot and put salt in my coffee. During our Q and A with the PR people I only said "whore" once (although I may have said hooker I can't remember) and I handed out more business cards because I had so many to give away. I make very good first impressions on people. 
Jackson was not so much the "little mover" at the Little Mover Adventure Zone as he was a "little sitter". Either way though, he was really cute. Jackson was a great travel companion and I really enjoyed spending time with him. 
Except changing his diaper on the floor, of the bathroom, on the Amtrak train. I do not think there is enough Purell in this world to get rid of the heebie jeebie skeeviness I feel.
Except changing his diaper on the floor, of the bathroom, on the Amtrak train. I do not think there is enough Purell in this world to get rid of the heebie jeebie skeeviness I feel. I know that Sci Fi Dad made fun of me in his comment on yesterday's post. He called me a mommy blogger. But he is just jealous because, you see, I also got to meet Angie Harmon.
I asked her if we could work out an arranged marriage between Jackson and her youngest daughter (who is only a few weeks older than Jackson). She kind of chuckled.
I asked her if we could work out an arranged marriage between Jackson and her youngest daughter (who is only a few weeks older than Jackson). She kind of chuckled. I then handed her my Poop and Boogies business card. She put the card in her purse. I make very good first impressions on people.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Travel
I was invited to New York City by Huggies for an event promoting their new diaper called the Little Movers. Actually I was not invited, Jackson was. They asked that he come to NY and try out their line of diapers. After some conversation with Lauren we decided that it would be okay if I took him away for an overnight visit to The Big Apple and a chance to meet some other bloggers and their kids.
Jackson and I boarded a train to NY and let me tell you, if you want to pick up 60 year old plus women, travel with a handsome baby. He was very popular among the blue hair demographics.
On the Amtrak to NY we sat next to a very nice woman who made room for us in the seat next to her. We made small talk towards the end of the journey when she asked if it was Jackson's first train ride. I joked that his older brothers were so jealous of him and his train ride. She asked if we were ever at a train museum and she mentioned a couple.
I said "Yes. We went to the one in ..uhmm...west of Philly...uhmm. " I could not think of the name of the town we visited a few years ago.
The nice lady continued to converse about the museums when the name of train town hit me.
"Intercourse." I said.
She looked at me weird.
"The train museum we went to was in Intercourse PA."
She nodded and continued to talk. I did not really hear anything she said because I could not stop laughing at myself and what she thought of me saying Intercourse.
Jackson and I met and had dinner with Metalia, Mrs Priss, Miss Zoot, Blasian Baby Notes and Torrie. So far we are having a great time.
Jackson and I boarded a train to NY and let me tell you, if you want to pick up 60 year old plus women, travel with a handsome baby. He was very popular among the blue hair demographics.
On the Amtrak to NY we sat next to a very nice woman who made room for us in the seat next to her. We made small talk towards the end of the journey when she asked if it was Jackson's first train ride. I joked that his older brothers were so jealous of him and his train ride. She asked if we were ever at a train museum and she mentioned a couple.
I said "Yes. We went to the one in ..uhmm...west of Philly...uhmm. " I could not think of the name of the town we visited a few years ago.
The nice lady continued to converse about the museums when the name of train town hit me.
"Intercourse." I said.
She looked at me weird.
"The train museum we went to was in Intercourse PA."
She nodded and continued to talk. I did not really hear anything she said because I could not stop laughing at myself and what she thought of me saying Intercourse.
Jackson and I met and had dinner with Metalia, Mrs Priss, Miss Zoot, Blasian Baby Notes and Torrie. So far we are having a great time.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Pre-School
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Battle
Maxfield, either from his cousins or from his new classmates in kindergarten, has been introduced to Bakugan. I am sure if you have kids in the four to ten years of age range you most likely have heard of Bakugan. Over the past week Max has mentioned the Bakugan figures enough times to prompt me to look into them.
Bakugan is one of those Japanese cartoon anime shows that has spawned games and cards and toys that are becoming quite popular here in the States. The full name of the series is Bakugan Battle Brawlers. The game is centered around these little spring loaded balls that turn into miniature figures. A battle ensues and whoever wins the battle is the victor.
The other night I was in Wal-mart and I passed a huge Bakugan display. I looked at all the various packs and kits and whatnot and saw that a basic Bakugan figure was only four bucks. I bought a green dragon figure-ball for Max and red dragon figure-ball for Wyatt. I figured they could all learn the game together.
For all of you parents out there that want to learn about Bakugan Battle Brawler game here is a quick run down of how the game is played.
Step 1-
Kid 1- Takes his dragon figure-ball and rolls onto the card that came with the figure.
Kid 2- Takes his dragon figure-ball and rolls onto the card that came with the figure.
Step 2-
Kid 1- Realizes that Kid 2's figure is actually kind of cool looking and offers a trade of the figures.
Kid 2- Accepts trade but then after five minutes decides he would like to get his original ball back.
Step 3-
Kid 1-Refuses a re-trade.
Kid 2-Demands a re-trade.
Step 4-
Kid 1-Then takes both figures and pushes Kid 2. This is where the Battle part happens.
Kid 2- Gets up and yells "My Bakugan" and punches Kid 1.
Step 5-
Kid 1- Yells "No. My Bakugan." and shoves Kid 2.
Kid 2- Picks up a Spiderman action figure (sold separately) and wings it at Kid 1's head yelling even louder than the first time "MY BAKUGAN!"
Step 6-
Kid 1- Yells even louder "MY BAKUGAN!!"
Kid 2- is now supposed to jump on Kid 1 and try to pry the Bakugan figure out of Kid 1's hand.
The two kids commence rolling on the ground grunting and yelling and grabbing each other's faces until they are separated by a parent, who then threatens to take away all the Bakugans if the two kids cannot learn to share.
Step 7-
There is a moment of quiet.
Repeat Step 1 to continue with the game.
I am still trying to figure out why the game is so popular.
Bakugan is one of those Japanese cartoon anime shows that has spawned games and cards and toys that are becoming quite popular here in the States. The full name of the series is Bakugan Battle Brawlers. The game is centered around these little spring loaded balls that turn into miniature figures. A battle ensues and whoever wins the battle is the victor.
The other night I was in Wal-mart and I passed a huge Bakugan display. I looked at all the various packs and kits and whatnot and saw that a basic Bakugan figure was only four bucks. I bought a green dragon figure-ball for Max and red dragon figure-ball for Wyatt. I figured they could all learn the game together.
For all of you parents out there that want to learn about Bakugan Battle Brawler game here is a quick run down of how the game is played.
Step 1-
Kid 1- Takes his dragon figure-ball and rolls onto the card that came with the figure.
Kid 2- Takes his dragon figure-ball and rolls onto the card that came with the figure.
Step 2-
Kid 1- Realizes that Kid 2's figure is actually kind of cool looking and offers a trade of the figures.
Kid 2- Accepts trade but then after five minutes decides he would like to get his original ball back.
Step 3-
Kid 1-Refuses a re-trade.
Kid 2-Demands a re-trade.
Step 4-
Kid 1-Then takes both figures and pushes Kid 2. This is where the Battle part happens.
Kid 2- Gets up and yells "My Bakugan" and punches Kid 1.
Step 5-
Kid 1- Yells "No. My Bakugan." and shoves Kid 2.
Kid 2- Picks up a Spiderman action figure (sold separately) and wings it at Kid 1's head yelling even louder than the first time "MY BAKUGAN!"
Step 6-
Kid 1- Yells even louder "MY BAKUGAN!!"
Kid 2- is now supposed to jump on Kid 1 and try to pry the Bakugan figure out of Kid 1's hand.
The two kids commence rolling on the ground grunting and yelling and grabbing each other's faces until they are separated by a parent, who then threatens to take away all the Bakugans if the two kids cannot learn to share.
Step 7-
There is a moment of quiet.
Repeat Step 1 to continue with the game.
I am still trying to figure out why the game is so popular.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Hell's Angel
I slowed down as I approached the light, moving over towards the right hand lane.
"Oh, there is Uncle Pat." Lauren said and she pointed to a group of riders on their motorcycles in the left turn lane.
Lauren's Uncle Pat, one of the nicest and funniest guys, is a motorcycle enthusiast and he was out riding his motorcycle with other bikers on a beautiful day. He rode his cycle between two other guys who looked and dressed the part of a "biker". The guy closest to our van was big. Real big. His arms were huge and he had the toughest handlebar moustache I have ever seen. He looked like a bigger version of the dad from Orange County Choppers. He was scary.
I pulled the mini-van along side and a bit ahead of the idling bikers who were waiting to make a left in the left turn lane. I stopped just ahead of the bikes so they were at my driver's side rear fender. I rolled down my window hoping to get Uncle Pat's attention. I kind of stuck my head out and hoped Pat would see me. He did not. I was going to wave but then I thought I would be a smart ass and yell something. I did not want to hold up traffic so I kept checking my mirrors and the traffic signal.
The guy, the scary guy, who was closest to my van, saw me craning my neck, trying to get their attention and he pulled up real close to my window. I, of course, did not see him edge up to my window because I just looked up to make sure the light did not change. I turned my head out the window and yelled, "Are you trying to look like a tough guy!?" Right. Into the scary guy's. Face.
I think I may have peed a little bit. I could see the look of horror on my face in the reflective surface on his dark sunglasses. That is how close he was to my window.
"Uhhhmmmm. Not you." I said. "I meant him. Uhmmm, him. Uncle Pat. Uncle PAT? Oh Uncle Pat?" I waived frantically until Uncle Pat saw me and he yelled a greeting back.
The light changed to green and I quickly drove away a few shades paler than I was.
"Oh, there is Uncle Pat." Lauren said and she pointed to a group of riders on their motorcycles in the left turn lane.
Lauren's Uncle Pat, one of the nicest and funniest guys, is a motorcycle enthusiast and he was out riding his motorcycle with other bikers on a beautiful day. He rode his cycle between two other guys who looked and dressed the part of a "biker". The guy closest to our van was big. Real big. His arms were huge and he had the toughest handlebar moustache I have ever seen. He looked like a bigger version of the dad from Orange County Choppers. He was scary.
I pulled the mini-van along side and a bit ahead of the idling bikers who were waiting to make a left in the left turn lane. I stopped just ahead of the bikes so they were at my driver's side rear fender. I rolled down my window hoping to get Uncle Pat's attention. I kind of stuck my head out and hoped Pat would see me. He did not. I was going to wave but then I thought I would be a smart ass and yell something. I did not want to hold up traffic so I kept checking my mirrors and the traffic signal.
The guy, the scary guy, who was closest to my van, saw me craning my neck, trying to get their attention and he pulled up real close to my window. I, of course, did not see him edge up to my window because I just looked up to make sure the light did not change. I turned my head out the window and yelled, "Are you trying to look like a tough guy!?" Right. Into the scary guy's. Face.
I think I may have peed a little bit. I could see the look of horror on my face in the reflective surface on his dark sunglasses. That is how close he was to my window.
"Uhhhmmmm. Not you." I said. "I meant him. Uhmmm, him. Uncle Pat. Uncle PAT? Oh Uncle Pat?" I waived frantically until Uncle Pat saw me and he yelled a greeting back.
The light changed to green and I quickly drove away a few shades paler than I was.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Red Handed
I should have seen it coming. It's one of those things that I knew was happening but for some reason I turned a blind eye to it. The signs were the typical, obvious signs that one would see on television shows like Dr. Phil or Oprah.
1. Longer than usual time spent on the computer
2. Strange phone numbers appearing on the bill
3. Easily distracted
4. Frequent trips to the store "Because I need something"
5. Unexplained receipts and charges in the bank account
6. Late nights away from the family
7. Feelings of guilt
8. An unexplained "glow" or happiness
The list goes on and on. I feel somewhat foolish for not seeing them early enough. I don't think the kids are affected and if they are they have adapted well. I am still trying to wrap my brain around it. I know it is not my fault but I am sure I hold some of the blame. I keep asking myself "Could I have done more to prevent this? What needs of hers am I not fulfilling."
Lauren is having an affair.
I am not sure when it started exactly but I do know that it has become more intense over this past summer. With vacations and day trips and other obligations I thought the whole thing would go away. I was wrong. That somehow she would lose interest. She didn't.
Like I said, I kind of knew it was happening all along but the whole affair was confirmed one evening when I cam home from work a bit early. The kids were watching TV in the Family Room with no sign of their mother around. I walked into the kitchen and just as I called out to Lauren I saw her wedding rings sitting on the window sill. I heard her rustling around in the dining room covering stuff up.
I popped my head in and I caught her red handed.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She held up her hands which were stained with various hues of pink, green, white and mostly red.
"I'm doing Art." She said and she smiled at me.
Art. Lauren met Art a long time ago, most likely when she was a kid. She always liked Art all the way through high school. When Lauren went into to college she did so for Art. Four years of her and Art. Lauren even went to Italy so she could better understand Art. After college, though, Art changed. Art went more in the direction of computers and Lauren was more of a traditional girl. They kind of parted ways. That was the time I met Lauren. She told me all about Art but I was pretty confident that her past relationship would not affect us.
Lauren and I fell in love, got married and now have a family. Some time last year Art started poking around again. I did not think much of it. Lauren got reacquainted with Art through websites like Etsy and Flickr (those sites promote infidelity I tell you.) 1.She was spending more time on the computer. 2.Lauren started calling around to various shows and places where she could see Art. 3. She got distracted by Art. 4. She would go out to various stores because she needed stuff for Art. 5. I would see receipts for Michael's and AC Moore. 6. Since late June Lauren has been spending at least three nights a week doing Art. 7. She feels guilty about her time away from the kids and how much more I have been doing. 8. She seems happier doing Art.
Art is lucky.
This coming weekend, Lauren will be having a fling with Art. She will showing and selling Art at the Doylestown Art Festival. If you are in the area stop by and tell Lauren what a hussy she is.
To save my brother Anonymous the effort of havng to comment- Yes Lauren likes her Art, well, hung.
Question--When a man has an affair with a woman, the other woman is called a mistress. When a woman has an affair what is the other man called? Mister-ess?
Check out what Lauren is doing at Gigglepotamus.
1. Longer than usual time spent on the computer
2. Strange phone numbers appearing on the bill
3. Easily distracted
4. Frequent trips to the store "Because I need something"
5. Unexplained receipts and charges in the bank account
6. Late nights away from the family
7. Feelings of guilt
8. An unexplained "glow" or happiness
The list goes on and on. I feel somewhat foolish for not seeing them early enough. I don't think the kids are affected and if they are they have adapted well. I am still trying to wrap my brain around it. I know it is not my fault but I am sure I hold some of the blame. I keep asking myself "Could I have done more to prevent this? What needs of hers am I not fulfilling."
Lauren is having an affair.
I am not sure when it started exactly but I do know that it has become more intense over this past summer. With vacations and day trips and other obligations I thought the whole thing would go away. I was wrong. That somehow she would lose interest. She didn't.
Like I said, I kind of knew it was happening all along but the whole affair was confirmed one evening when I cam home from work a bit early. The kids were watching TV in the Family Room with no sign of their mother around. I walked into the kitchen and just as I called out to Lauren I saw her wedding rings sitting on the window sill. I heard her rustling around in the dining room covering stuff up.
I popped my head in and I caught her red handed.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She held up her hands which were stained with various hues of pink, green, white and mostly red.
"I'm doing Art." She said and she smiled at me.
Art. Lauren met Art a long time ago, most likely when she was a kid. She always liked Art all the way through high school. When Lauren went into to college she did so for Art. Four years of her and Art. Lauren even went to Italy so she could better understand Art. After college, though, Art changed. Art went more in the direction of computers and Lauren was more of a traditional girl. They kind of parted ways. That was the time I met Lauren. She told me all about Art but I was pretty confident that her past relationship would not affect us.
Lauren and I fell in love, got married and now have a family. Some time last year Art started poking around again. I did not think much of it. Lauren got reacquainted with Art through websites like Etsy and Flickr (those sites promote infidelity I tell you.) 1.She was spending more time on the computer. 2.Lauren started calling around to various shows and places where she could see Art. 3. She got distracted by Art. 4. She would go out to various stores because she needed stuff for Art. 5. I would see receipts for Michael's and AC Moore. 6. Since late June Lauren has been spending at least three nights a week doing Art. 7. She feels guilty about her time away from the kids and how much more I have been doing. 8. She seems happier doing Art.
Art is lucky.
This coming weekend, Lauren will be having a fling with Art. She will showing and selling Art at the Doylestown Art Festival. If you are in the area stop by and tell Lauren what a hussy she is.
To save my brother Anonymous the effort of havng to comment- Yes Lauren likes her Art, well, hung.
Question--When a man has an affair with a woman, the other woman is called a mistress. When a woman has an affair what is the other man called? Mister-ess?
Check out what Lauren is doing at Gigglepotamus.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Workshop
The first Saturday of every month Home Depot offers a free "Kids How-To Workshop". Home Depot provides hammers, nails, official Home Depot aprons (the kids get to keep them) glue and a kit for the kids to build. Their slogan is "Build. Learn. Create." I have taken Maxfield and Wyatt to these workshops (and the ones at Lowes) in the past and we usually have a good time. We have built bird houses, trucks, pirate ships and other wooden type stuff.
We have not attended a how-to clinic in quite a while and Lauren suggested that I take the kids this past Saturday, which I did. The workshop, which has seating for 16-20, people was quite busy on Saturday. When we arrived there was already a 10 minute wait for available space at the work table and a line, of about 8 other kids, formed behind Max and Wyatt.
The build-it-yourself kit this week was a bean bag game thing. The kit came with 5 pieces of wood, 2 bean bags, 10 short nails and 4 long nails. The instructions did not look too complicated. The way I usually handle these workshop kit things is that I get Max started on his project and then I build Wyatt's to a couple of steps past Max's so if questions come up I can be ready to answer them. I got Max started on the first nail and I began to build Wyatt's.
Max was ready for step two and asked me for help. Since I was already on step three, I set up Max's nails for his step two and I continued tinkering with Wyatt's. I tinkered and tinkered. I could not get step three to work right. I looked at the instructions over and over and the pieces of wood for step three would not fit. I looked at all the other parents and their kids and they all were doing fine. I tried to get a closer look at the project of the little girl sitting closest to us but I felt like I was cheating on a test. I think she even tried to shield her assembly with her elbow and forearm and she gave me the evil eye. I started to break a sweat.
Max was done his step two and asked me to help him with step three. It was right then I realized that I put step two together the wrong way. I confused the "right leg" with the "left leg"and although they were identical pieces of wood, it totally made a difference in the assembly. I took the claw of the hammer and I removed the long nails from the "right leg" as well as a chunk of flesh from my thumb. I started to bleed. Not just a little bit, but alot. It was one of those cuts that looks worse than it is because it would not stop trickling blood.
I quickly hammered Wyatt's pieces back together and I explained to Max that his step two was wrong and that I needed to pull it apart so he could do it the right way. He got mad and asked that I not bleed on his bean bag game. I clawed Max's pieces and hammered them back. I got wood glue all over my hands in the process. We all moved to step three together, which again, I could not figure out.
I looked at the instructions and then at the wood pieces in front of me. The instructions, the wood pieces. The instructions, the wood pieces. I shook my head and sighed. I put step two together wrong again. I put the pieces right back the way I had them. I took them all apart, again, while Max and Wyatt protested. I added more glue and I hammered the pieces together. I bent one of the long nails in Wyatt's game and I dropped two nails on the floor, they rolled out of reach under the table. I was very frustrated. People who were behind us in line at the start of the workshop were finished their projects and were heading out the door.
I studied the instructions again as I sucked on the cut on my thumb to prevent the blood from dripping on the table. I got a mouthful of wood glue. I started to work on step three when I could feel my face get flush and my ears burn, I could feel anger rising from my chest.
"Son of a...." I swallowed the last word. "I can't believe it."
I put the pieces back together the exact same way I did the first few times. Wrong.
I could not believe I made the same mistake, not once, not twice, not three, but four fa-ricking times.
I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I have gutted rooms, dry-walled cielings, re-done kitchens and bathrooms, I even have put together many pieces of Ikea furniture and never had this many problems. What the hell was wrong with me and this simple little game? I was beside myself. Flustered.
Then it hit me. I was holding back due to the room full of children. My mental block, my problem with this do-it-yourself clinic was the fact that I was unable to curse when I messed up.
My DIY motto has always been "Build. Curse. Learn."
Friday, September 04, 2009
Ballgame
Wyatt and Jackson attended their first Phillies Game. It took me 35 years to become a fan of baseball. Now, I love the game. I wish I became a fan earlier in life because of all the conversations I missed out on with my dad and my brothers through the years. 
I am just now learning some of the science, art, intricacies and nuances of the game, which I may or may not be able to teach my kids. My boys may never develop an interest in the game of baseball.... 
...unless it involves cotton candy, popcorn, peanuts and soda. I think they will always have an interest in those aspects of the game.
I am just now learning some of the science, art, intricacies and nuances of the game, which I may or may not be able to teach my kids. My boys may never develop an interest in the game of baseball.... 
...unless it involves cotton candy, popcorn, peanuts and soda. I think they will always have an interest in those aspects of the game.
It was a good game. A pitcher's duel which made it somewhat boring for the kids. Not too many plays presented themselves for me to impart my wisdom of the game onto the kids.
We had a good time. We left after the 6th inning when Max and Wyatt took the phrase Fightin' Phils quite literally and started to beat the crap out of each other.
On the way out of the game we stopped to use the restroom and finally a ball park teachable moment presented itself. I had to explain to Max that it was socially unacceptable to talk to the people standing on either side of him, while peeing, at the urinals in the men's room. It is a nuance of the game.
On the way out of the game we stopped to use the restroom and finally a ball park teachable moment presented itself. I had to explain to Max that it was socially unacceptable to talk to the people standing on either side of him, while peeing, at the urinals in the men's room. It is a nuance of the game.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Kindergarten
Maxfield starts Kindergarten next week.
I am a little nervous for him.
Why?
Well, this is me in Kindergarten.
Do you understand why I may be nervous?
Well, this is me in Kindergarten.
Do you understand why I may be nervous?
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