So, while Matthew is driving across the country I shall fill in on Saturdays! Because I see Matthew’s little trip as a modern day National Lampoon’s Vacation type of event, I thought I’d use today as a return of the “Daily Life.”
This week I want to talk about home ownership, because as anyone who owns a house knows, homes collect things. I’m not talking about just physical things like comic books, and furniture, and your wife’s childhood crap that her parents have saved for 30+ years and no longer want to keep at their house. Homes also collect living things such as children, fish, dogs, cats, and if you are really lucky bats.
I got lucky this year as my house got infested with those flying vermin. Unfortunately, unlike mice which are poisonously easy to get rid of, bats are a protected species. This means you can’t trap them, kill then, or harm them in any way. You are forced to go to a pest control specialist who will “remove” them in a humane way.
So I called the pest company and the conversation went like this…
Girl answers: Hello, Acme Pest Control (not real name of said company)
Lee: Hi, yes I was wondering if… well, I’m sorry, it’s a bad pun, but I have to say it… I have bats in my belfry can you get them out.
Girl: Hum? Ok, so you have bats?
Let’s pause for a minute and review what just occurred. Granted, I said a really, really bad joke but not only was it ignored but it appeared to have confused the girl. Luckily I recognized the signs and went into business mode.
Lee: Sorry about that. Yes, I have bats in my attic and need to get them removed. Do you handle bats?
Girl: Yes, we do and I can schedule a time for a tech to come visit in order to provide you an estimate.
Lee: Great… ((provide house info, set up time, pleasant small talk))
Girl: Ok, we’re all set. Excuse me sir…
Lee: Yes?
Girl: What was that word you used again?
Lee: Belfry? As in bats in the Belfry? Haven’t you heard that word before?
Girl: Oh belfry. I’m sorry but I’ve never heard it. But, I’m 32 and still pretty young. That must be one of those old words.
Lee, calmly: Yeah, it probably is. Thanks for the help and I’ll see the tech next week.
Thank goodness I didn’t use a three syllable word. If I had she might have called me ancient instead of just old!
And, for the record, my elementary school age kids knew the word. Granted they learned it from Bugs Bunny but at least they knew it.
Showing posts with label Daily Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daily Life. Show all posts
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Friday, September 21, 2012
What I read this week - Sept 21
That's right, we explained the theory of evolution and the scientific basis for it. In a nutshell, we explained how everything we know about man has come from this little theory. We also had to explain that not everyone believes in it which led to another long, long discussion. But, that is a topic for another day. At the end of our family discussion, the kids understood the basics and that our family believes in evolution.
Soon after, we were at the pool, and Tiny swam over to me with a gleeful look in her eye. She motioned me closer and whispered into my ear, "Daddy, Daddy, I can prove evolution to all the people who don't believe."
To say my curiosity was piqued is an understatement. "And, how would you do that?" I asked.
Tiny looked around conspiratorially, fixed her eyes on the biggest, hairiest man I had ever seen and POINTED. "Look at him Daddy. He's got hair everywhere. He's even got hair on his back so he must have come from monkeys. See Daddy, he proves evolution." And with that, she swam off happy as a clam that she had proven the theory of evolution.
Well, it's hard to argue with such logic. I'm just glad the man didn't see her pointing because he would have killed me.
Anyway, as for books, this week I read Prophet Vol 1, Glory Vol 1, Peter Panzerfaust Vol 1, and The Bulletproof Coffin.
You can see what I thought of the rest of the books below the break.
Thursday, June 07, 2012
What I read this week
It was pointed out to me that all my stories seem to have me 'winning' or otherwise causing trouble and antagonizing my ever so innocent wife. Well, this week I want to set the story straight that what comes around goes around at my house.
It started last week when I was working in the attic. I thought I had taken all the necessary tools up with me, but as with any home project, things quickly got out of control and I needed some additional widgets. So I leaned out of the access hatch and calmly called out, "WWIIFFFEEEE IIIII NNNNEEEEEEEEEEDDDDD HHHHEEEELLLLPPPP!"
Which earned me an exasperated, "How come your projects always become my projects, but my projects never become your projects? What do you need now?"
Now it should be noted that Wife is a very smart woman and normally this wouldn't be an issue. But my work bench is a pit, always has been, always will be. This just means that finding tools isn't always the easiest. And from the semiglazed look I got I knew I was going to have to provide more details. So I added, "Sorry, I mean I need the silver tool that goes rinka rinka rinka clack clack clack. It should be next to the orange tool that you always think I am going to cut my arm off with. The cutters look like little tiny grooming scissors, and the drill isn't the big orange one but the smaller black one that you always complain sounds like nails on a chalkboard."
The very next day I was in the kitchen cabinet looking for something to eat. I was digging and rearranging and searching high and low. All I wanted were some dried cherries. The cabinet is always a mess, and I was just about at the curse out loud stage when I caved. "Honey, where are cherries? I can't find them."
Even though I think she was making fun of me, I found the cherries.
Anyway... I managed to read two books this week, Chew Omnivore Edition Vol 1 and Creepy Presents Bernie Wrightson. You can see what I thought of them below the break.
It started last week when I was working in the attic. I thought I had taken all the necessary tools up with me, but as with any home project, things quickly got out of control and I needed some additional widgets. So I leaned out of the access hatch and calmly called out, "WWIIFFFEEEE IIIII NNNNEEEEEEEEEEDDDDD HHHHEEEELLLLPPPP!"
Which earned me an exasperated, "How come your projects always become my projects, but my projects never become your projects? What do you need now?"
"Sorry darling. Thank you very much, but could you get me a couple of tools? I need the socket wrench, a pair of wire cutters, and the small hand drill. The wrench and the cutters are in my tool bag, and the drill should be on top of the work bench."
Now it should be noted that Wife is a very smart woman and normally this wouldn't be an issue. But my work bench is a pit, always has been, always will be. This just means that finding tools isn't always the easiest. And from the semiglazed look I got I knew I was going to have to provide more details. So I added, "Sorry, I mean I need the silver tool that goes rinka rinka rinka clack clack clack. It should be next to the orange tool that you always think I am going to cut my arm off with. The cutters look like little tiny grooming scissors, and the drill isn't the big orange one but the smaller black one that you always complain sounds like nails on a chalkboard."
"Don't be like that. I know what tools are."
"Sorry, I was just trying to help," I responded. But it should be noted that I got the right tools.The very next day I was in the kitchen cabinet looking for something to eat. I was digging and rearranging and searching high and low. All I wanted were some dried cherries. The cabinet is always a mess, and I was just about at the curse out loud stage when I caved. "Honey, where are cherries? I can't find them."
"Have you tried looking behind the green box that goes schwooba schwooba schwooba when you shake it? Or next to the odd shaped box full of stuff that you're afraid to try?"
Even though I think she was making fun of me, I found the cherries.
Anyway... I managed to read two books this week, Chew Omnivore Edition Vol 1 and Creepy Presents Bernie Wrightson. You can see what I thought of them below the break.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
My wife said I couldn't have sex with an alien...
Anyway, I’m about an hour in or so when Wife came in to check on me.
- What bad movie are you watching now?
- Some monster movie whose name I can't remember. It’s actually pretty decent. On screen, Brody and the creature thing are making googly eyes at each other.
Wife, not really interested as much as curious asks
- So what’s going on?
- Ahh, the usual thing. Scientists make some weird genetic mutation which will eventually go on a rampage of death and destruction. Now it, which is female, is seducing the scientist.
About this time, Brody and the Creature really start getting into it. We see creatures boobs and while she is riding him she sprouts wings in a… ummm… climactic moment.
- What the!? Is he having sex with that alien? Eeewwww, gross!
- Now hold on. It’s not an alien. It has human DNA so it’s not nearly as gross as it appears.
- What? No, it’s a creepy looking monster with wings. That's close enough to alien to be alien. Normal people do not have sex with aliens from outer space.
- Aww come on now, you’re just being narrow minded. It’s really not that big a deal because it’s a human based genetically engineering thingee which makes it ok. There are no aliens in this movie. In fact, it’s kinda exotic if you think about it.
- Hold on now. That’s bestiality and that’s just nasty. This is a cluster of pre-fab cells with a dash of human DNA. That is completely different. And honestly the whole thing is moot because she has small tits anyway. If I am gonna have sex with an alien or a thing with wing then it needs to have either multiple tits or at least one larger than that.
I love my wife a great deal but she does not have what you would call "huge tracts of land". I love her tits just the way they are but I could tell by her look that I had struck a nerve. So, pointing to her own chest wife responds with
- Ummmm Hello! Just slightly insulting?
- What, you have nice normal human tits, maybe a wee bit undersized but beautiful. I'm just saying most aliens have bigger tits than the ones on the screen.
Wife, insulted and disgusted left the room.
Hindsight being what it is, I see now that my final comment wasn't the best. Instead of going with my silly answer I think I would have saved myself an hour of silence if I had gone with one of these comments instead:
1) I should have just kept quiet and agreed that I would never have sex with an alien. That would still have left open the door to genetically modified beings and I should have been happy with that.
2) I should have tried to reason with her and used the geeky Star Trek reference. Drawing the analogy between Captain Kirk, a horny old dog who chased ever alien with legs, tails, and even tentacles, and the acceptability of interspecies relationship in the distant future..
3) I should have said her tits were bigger and left it at that.
Yeah, I think #3 would have been the best response too.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Superheroes in Suits
He wasn’t too sure at first but once he started he tore through both Masterworks in a week. Actually it was a weekend but he kept them for a week so he could memorize everything. Needless to say that he loved it.
Which brings us to yesterday. The family was upstairs and the kids were getting ready for bed when Boy came up to me and started with... "Dad I was looking at your pile of books..."
That was a huge sigh of relief because he was talking about Avengers:1959 and he was right. "Yep, that was Nick Fury. Why?"
"Why was he wearing a suit? You can't fight Hydra in a suit. The Satan's Claw would kill him in a second. And I think there were zombies on the cover too. You can’t kill zombies or fight Hydra in a suit. That's just dumb. "
And he wandered off mumbling how dumb suits on superheroes were.
Its hard to argue with logic like that. I am raising such a good little nerd!
Saturday, October 15, 2011
I'm better than you
It never ceases to amaze me how competitive people are. Oh, you might say you aren’t competitive but deep down everyone is. I think things get even more competitive among family members. I remember watching and listening my Grandmother at our family reunion. After the meal and all the young folk had fled the table, she and her siblings would sit around and compare illnesses. The youngest one always had a bad back. The second had a bad back and sore knee. The third had a bad back, a sore knee, and a hemorrhoid that just wouldn’t go away. By the time it got to my Grandmother, #9, she had some rare tropical illness that she had gotten years ago but never told anyone so not to worry them along with everything else. It was like the 12 days of Christmas only with pain and rare diseases.
I always thought it was limited to older people because I was never competitive with my siblings. Mostly because I was always so much smarter than my brother, and my sister… well we don’t talk because she scares me. She’s a wee bit more ‘focused’ and ‘intense’ than the average joe.
But, something interesting happened the other day that made me think it wasn’t just old people. It started as I was driving the kids to school…
I always thought it was limited to older people because I was never competitive with my siblings. Mostly because I was always so much smarter than my brother, and my sister… well we don’t talk because she scares me. She’s a wee bit more ‘focused’ and ‘intense’ than the average joe.
But, something interesting happened the other day that made me think it wasn’t just old people. It started as I was driving the kids to school…
Sunday, May 29, 2011
New Words and Phrases
I’ve been a parent for awhile now yet I am continually surprised by the things that come out of mouth. Don’t get me wrong, deep down I knew it was inevitable that I would say the same things that my mother said to me but it doesn’t make it any less surprising when it occurs. Even more surprising than the ‘don’t make me come up there’’s are the things that I NEVER thought I would have to say. What kind of things might I be forced to say ? Well, I had the chance to say some new things just the other night.
The kids were getting ready for bed and I was talking to Boy while he dried off after his shower. It’s ordinary chit chat about Pokemon, how good the Red Sox are, how good the Bruins are, how good Judge Dredd comics are, you know, the usual stuff. It's at this point that I see the most interesting thing. Going in and out of his nose is a booger. Yep, it's like a whack-a-mole in one nostril. Wheeeze out, and there, like a flag in a strong breeze, is a booger. Breath in, no booger. Breath out. Booger.
I do the only thing a parent can do, I squeal Ahhhh Hey Suess (literally so I don't use the Lord's name in vain) what is that?
What's What Dad? Boy asks.
Whadda ya mean what’s what ? Ya got a booger flying in an out of yer nose. It's disgusting.
And then it dawned on him. He realized that he had finally disgusted his father. His eyes get wide like saucers, a malicious glint entered his eye, and sudden he's breathing in and out as fast as he can. Booger, nothing, booger, nothing, booger. It was nasty.
So, again acting like the parent that I am, still squealing like a little girl, Ew, stop it. Now you're just trying to be disgusting. For the record, that is a phrase from my childhood.
In a voice that was somewhere between defeated because he had to stop his fun, and glee because he had grossed me out so much, he says Fine, I'll stop but I want to see it.
Let me answer the obvious question, no I don’t know why he wanted to look at it. Anyway, he leans into the bathroom mirror to see the booger going in and out. But, after all the blowing whatever molecular bonds attaching the booger to his nose have weakened. So when he gives and extra strong blow, it LAUNCHES out of his nose and onto his upper lip.
I am ready to vomit. And maintaining my sterling parently voice, squeal, Aaahhhh it's on your face now. Ick.
I changed diapers that disgusted me less than this. Maybe it’s because he’s older and I expect him to know better, but I never thought I would say the following :
1) Stop, don't clean your face with your finger
2) No, don't use the towel either
3) How about a kleenex?? Don't you think a kleenix is a better idea.
and finally,
4) Yes you can show your Mom before getting the kleenex.
Other than the first one, I never thought I would say any of those things.
Ok, maybe I've just been waiting for the right time to say the last one....
The kids were getting ready for bed and I was talking to Boy while he dried off after his shower. It’s ordinary chit chat about Pokemon, how good the Red Sox are, how good the Bruins are, how good Judge Dredd comics are, you know, the usual stuff. It's at this point that I see the most interesting thing. Going in and out of his nose is a booger. Yep, it's like a whack-a-mole in one nostril. Wheeeze out, and there, like a flag in a strong breeze, is a booger. Breath in, no booger. Breath out. Booger.
I do the only thing a parent can do, I squeal Ahhhh Hey Suess (literally so I don't use the Lord's name in vain) what is that?
What's What Dad? Boy asks.
Whadda ya mean what’s what ? Ya got a booger flying in an out of yer nose. It's disgusting.
And then it dawned on him. He realized that he had finally disgusted his father. His eyes get wide like saucers, a malicious glint entered his eye, and sudden he's breathing in and out as fast as he can. Booger, nothing, booger, nothing, booger. It was nasty.
So, again acting like the parent that I am, still squealing like a little girl, Ew, stop it. Now you're just trying to be disgusting. For the record, that is a phrase from my childhood.
In a voice that was somewhere between defeated because he had to stop his fun, and glee because he had grossed me out so much, he says Fine, I'll stop but I want to see it.
Let me answer the obvious question, no I don’t know why he wanted to look at it. Anyway, he leans into the bathroom mirror to see the booger going in and out. But, after all the blowing whatever molecular bonds attaching the booger to his nose have weakened. So when he gives and extra strong blow, it LAUNCHES out of his nose and onto his upper lip.
I am ready to vomit. And maintaining my sterling parently voice, squeal, Aaahhhh it's on your face now. Ick.
I changed diapers that disgusted me less than this. Maybe it’s because he’s older and I expect him to know better, but I never thought I would say the following :
1) Stop, don't clean your face with your finger
2) No, don't use the towel either
3) How about a kleenex?? Don't you think a kleenix is a better idea.
and finally,
4) Yes you can show your Mom before getting the kleenex.
Other than the first one, I never thought I would say any of those things.
Ok, maybe I've just been waiting for the right time to say the last one....
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
The Birthday List
Well, it’s that time of year again. It’s Lee’s Birthday. Actually, today is my Birthday.
I know, I know, you’re all disappointed because I didn’t give you enough warning to get me something. But that’s ok. Because I’ve been so busy, I am extending my birthday for another two weeks just so YOU, my loyal readers, can go out an buy me an extra special gift. So, with that in mind, let’s get into the gift ideas:
Idea #1: Nothing says I love you like a national monument.
Now, because I’m moving to France next month, it’s makes sense to get a monument that’s not only practical but available for me to use. That’s why I’m recommending the Eiffel Tower. Pro: It’s not that far from where I’m going to be living so I’ll be able to use it often. Con: There’s an awful lot of people crawling all over it on a daily basis and I might have to let them continue to do so. Pro: At the top, I would have a great view of Paris. And, if you purchase it for me, I will make sure to provide unlimited access to the Tower… as long as I’m not there!
Idea #2: It isn’t for me, it’s for you!
Let’s be honest, moving is hard enough but moving to a new country is very, very hard. So, in order to make the transition to my new French lifestyle, I would like a maid service. This isn’t just a gift for me, it’s a gift for my entire family! It would take the pressure of having to keep a clean house off my wife, and thereby reduce my stress levels. I am nothing, if not generous, on my birthday.
Idea #3: Love and World Peace
Oh who am I kidding. It's all about the material wealth. If you're feeling pressed for time, remember, gift cards are not impersonal!
Thank you all for a wonderful year and thank you in advance for all your wonderful gifts!
I know, I know, you’re all disappointed because I didn’t give you enough warning to get me something. But that’s ok. Because I’ve been so busy, I am extending my birthday for another two weeks just so YOU, my loyal readers, can go out an buy me an extra special gift. So, with that in mind, let’s get into the gift ideas:Idea #1: Nothing says I love you like a national monument.
Now, because I’m moving to France next month, it’s makes sense to get a monument that’s not only practical but available for me to use. That’s why I’m recommending the Eiffel Tower. Pro: It’s not that far from where I’m going to be living so I’ll be able to use it often. Con: There’s an awful lot of people crawling all over it on a daily basis and I might have to let them continue to do so. Pro: At the top, I would have a great view of Paris. And, if you purchase it for me, I will make sure to provide unlimited access to the Tower… as long as I’m not there!
Idea #2: It isn’t for me, it’s for you!Let’s be honest, moving is hard enough but moving to a new country is very, very hard. So, in order to make the transition to my new French lifestyle, I would like a maid service. This isn’t just a gift for me, it’s a gift for my entire family! It would take the pressure of having to keep a clean house off my wife, and thereby reduce my stress levels. I am nothing, if not generous, on my birthday.
Idea #3: Love and World Peace
Oh who am I kidding. It's all about the material wealth. If you're feeling pressed for time, remember, gift cards are not impersonal!
Thank you all for a wonderful year and thank you in advance for all your wonderful gifts!
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
The Move
Well, it’s finally official, I’ve managed to weasel a job offer out of a company located in France and I’ll be moving there next month.
Let’s just get this out of the way… Yes, it’s a good thing, and No, I won’t be leaving the blog.
The last few months have been stressful and exciting all at the same time while I tried to finalize all the various aspects of my job and life. The to-do list has been immense and included such wonderful objectives as: sell a house, get a new house (in a new country), learn French, teach the kids French, pack up a house, sell a car, buy a car, (in a new country), to name a few. Inbetween all that excitement I was doing my regular job and somewhat contributing the blog.
What have I learned so far…
The French language is ridiculously complicated. I’m lucky in the fact that the letters and numbers are the same as English symbols and not far eastern glyphs. But after that, it’s a maze of pronunciation, punctuation, and new thought processes.
French houses are much smaller than American houses. This should have been obvious from the start but you can’t imagine how much smaller until you go there. I was actually very, very lucky and got a house… but it still doesn’t have a single closet. Or shower curtain… but that’s another story.
Finally, it’s amazing how narrow minded people on both sides of the pond really are. I cannot even begin to tell you how many have asked me, “So, are they making you go to France?”
Seriously, why would that question even occur to you? I live by the old adage, if I say one of my brilliant ideas out loud and it sounds bad, then it most likely is. Sports teams and fraternities provide the best examples of this theory. Example #1, a football coach: Little Bobby claims to be hurt. I think he’s faking it. It’s 100 degrees outside but we’ll toughen him up by putting him in the electrical closet at the stadium. Say that out loud. “Put him in an electrical closet.” Sound bad? Yeah it does so it’s probably a bad idea.
So, if I announce, with a smile on my face, that I am moving to France, your first response should not be… “Really. Wow I’m sorry to hear that. Who did you piss off?” It should be “Congratuations!”… then you may ask if I drank to much wine when I accepted the offer.
Let’s just get this out of the way… Yes, it’s a good thing, and No, I won’t be leaving the blog.
The last few months have been stressful and exciting all at the same time while I tried to finalize all the various aspects of my job and life. The to-do list has been immense and included such wonderful objectives as: sell a house, get a new house (in a new country), learn French, teach the kids French, pack up a house, sell a car, buy a car, (in a new country), to name a few. Inbetween all that excitement I was doing my regular job and somewhat contributing the blog.
What have I learned so far…
The French language is ridiculously complicated. I’m lucky in the fact that the letters and numbers are the same as English symbols and not far eastern glyphs. But after that, it’s a maze of pronunciation, punctuation, and new thought processes.
French houses are much smaller than American houses. This should have been obvious from the start but you can’t imagine how much smaller until you go there. I was actually very, very lucky and got a house… but it still doesn’t have a single closet. Or shower curtain… but that’s another story.
Finally, it’s amazing how narrow minded people on both sides of the pond really are. I cannot even begin to tell you how many have asked me, “So, are they making you go to France?”
Seriously, why would that question even occur to you? I live by the old adage, if I say one of my brilliant ideas out loud and it sounds bad, then it most likely is. Sports teams and fraternities provide the best examples of this theory. Example #1, a football coach: Little Bobby claims to be hurt. I think he’s faking it. It’s 100 degrees outside but we’ll toughen him up by putting him in the electrical closet at the stadium. Say that out loud. “Put him in an electrical closet.” Sound bad? Yeah it does so it’s probably a bad idea.
So, if I announce, with a smile on my face, that I am moving to France, your first response should not be… “Really. Wow I’m sorry to hear that. Who did you piss off?” It should be “Congratuations!”… then you may ask if I drank to much wine when I accepted the offer.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Helping Others!
Have you ever wondered what kind of bathroom person you are? I ask this question because I think a person’s habits within a bathroom can tell a lot about them.
For example, there’s the old the toilet paper "comes off the top of the roll” or “comes off the bottom of the roll” question. It’s an old point to ponder and I think everyone has an opinion one way or another.
I think the real question is: When you encounter an incorrectly oriented roll of toilet paper, what do you do about?
Have you ever ‘corrected’ the roll while at a friends house or apartment? Were you thinking “they must have just been changing the roll quickly and not noticed. I’ll fix it for them.” while fixing the roll? As the home owner/renter have you changed rolls just to irritate your visitor?
Based upon the number of rolls that have mysterious changed orientation, mid roll, at my house, I think more people do this than will admit it.
What kind of person are you?
For example, there’s the old the toilet paper "comes off the top of the roll” or “comes off the bottom of the roll” question. It’s an old point to ponder and I think everyone has an opinion one way or another.
I think the real question is: When you encounter an incorrectly oriented roll of toilet paper, what do you do about?
Have you ever ‘corrected’ the roll while at a friends house or apartment? Were you thinking “they must have just been changing the roll quickly and not noticed. I’ll fix it for them.” while fixing the roll? As the home owner/renter have you changed rolls just to irritate your visitor?
Based upon the number of rolls that have mysterious changed orientation, mid roll, at my house, I think more people do this than will admit it.
What kind of person are you?
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Details Aren't Important
It’s probably no surprise that I love details. I love the details of conversations. I love the details in art. I love exact and precise things. I don’t do generalizations and I’ve learned, mostly the hard way, that there are times to be precise and times to let it go. But, it’s come to my attention that a lot of people don’t know when to let it go. So, today’s post will help clarify when it’s a “good time” to be detailed obsessive…
To help your understanding, I’ve thought up a hypothetical situation involving a Man and his Wife having a conversation early one morning.
Man: How did you sleep last night?
Wife: Not so good. I had stress dreams and I kept waking up.
LEARNING POINT #1: Mood is terribly important when trying to determine whether asking for details is acceptable. In this case, the Wife is tired from a lack of sleep. That makes her grouchy. So, this is a good time to walk away while saying something like, ‘Awww, that’s too bad!’
BUT, since this is an exercise, let’s assume that the Man pressed on clueless to the danger he was getting into.
Man: Ewww. That’s never fun. What were the dreams about?
Wife: I don’t know. I’m just stressed and it all turned up in the dreams. It was one of those extended stress dreams that had everything in it.
LEARNING POINT #2: As you can see in this example, Wife, through verbal cues, has already established that she’s grouchy and doesn’t really feel like talking about it. By again pressing on, Man has gone from slight danger to walking straight into the lion’s den with a sharp stick in hand.
Since sharp sticks can only be used to poke, prod, and otherwise annoy savage beasts, this would be a good time to say something like, ‘Awww, that’s too bad. I’ll make breakfast for the kids!’ and walk away.
BUT, since this is an exercise, let’s assume that the Man continued on, pressing for more details.
Man: Everything? Were the kids in it?
Wife: Yeah. And other stuff too.
Man: Was it house related stuff too?
Wife: Yeah. A little bit of that too.
Man: Some zombies?
Wife: What? Zombies? What are you talking about?
Man: You know zombies! No stress dream in complete with zombies. There’s the ‘I’m falling’ stress dream. The ‘house is collapsing’ stress dream. The ‘work is overwhelming’ stress dream. And, the ever popular ‘zombies are chasing me’ stress dream. But it’s gotta be classic slow zombies, not the nouveau fast zombies to count as a stress dream.
But, it appears that you didn’t have zombies so you didn’t have a stress dream. You had what I call more of a mild annoyance dream.
LEARNING POINT #3: At this point, you’re pretty much screwed. You can potentially escape with a minor flogging if you stop at any point prior to the zombies. But, pushing ever onward to explain that zombies are required for it to be a true stress dream (NO MATTER HOW RIGHT YOU ARE) will only lead to dire consequences.
If this had been a real story the above conversation might have concluded with a glare and “Don’t you need to go to work now?”
The appropriate response is “Yes! Yes, I do.” NOT “What? I’m trying to help you better understand your dreams. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today.”
To help your understanding, I’ve thought up a hypothetical situation involving a Man and his Wife having a conversation early one morning.
Man: How did you sleep last night?
Wife: Not so good. I had stress dreams and I kept waking up.
LEARNING POINT #1: Mood is terribly important when trying to determine whether asking for details is acceptable. In this case, the Wife is tired from a lack of sleep. That makes her grouchy. So, this is a good time to walk away while saying something like, ‘Awww, that’s too bad!’
BUT, since this is an exercise, let’s assume that the Man pressed on clueless to the danger he was getting into.
Man: Ewww. That’s never fun. What were the dreams about?
Wife: I don’t know. I’m just stressed and it all turned up in the dreams. It was one of those extended stress dreams that had everything in it.
LEARNING POINT #2: As you can see in this example, Wife, through verbal cues, has already established that she’s grouchy and doesn’t really feel like talking about it. By again pressing on, Man has gone from slight danger to walking straight into the lion’s den with a sharp stick in hand.
Since sharp sticks can only be used to poke, prod, and otherwise annoy savage beasts, this would be a good time to say something like, ‘Awww, that’s too bad. I’ll make breakfast for the kids!’ and walk away.
BUT, since this is an exercise, let’s assume that the Man continued on, pressing for more details.
Man: Everything? Were the kids in it?
Wife: Yeah. And other stuff too.
Man: Was it house related stuff too?
Wife: Yeah. A little bit of that too.
Man: Some zombies?
Wife: What? Zombies? What are you talking about?
Man: You know zombies! No stress dream in complete with zombies. There’s the ‘I’m falling’ stress dream. The ‘house is collapsing’ stress dream. The ‘work is overwhelming’ stress dream. And, the ever popular ‘zombies are chasing me’ stress dream. But it’s gotta be classic slow zombies, not the nouveau fast zombies to count as a stress dream.
But, it appears that you didn’t have zombies so you didn’t have a stress dream. You had what I call more of a mild annoyance dream.
LEARNING POINT #3: At this point, you’re pretty much screwed. You can potentially escape with a minor flogging if you stop at any point prior to the zombies. But, pushing ever onward to explain that zombies are required for it to be a true stress dream (NO MATTER HOW RIGHT YOU ARE) will only lead to dire consequences.
If this had been a real story the above conversation might have concluded with a glare and “Don’t you need to go to work now?”
The appropriate response is “Yes! Yes, I do.” NOT “What? I’m trying to help you better understand your dreams. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today.”
Saturday, January 09, 2010
The Fatherly Voice
When I learned I was going to be a father, I immediately started practicing my ‘father voice’. Everyone remembers a time when his, or her, father used the ‘father voice’. It was your father’s voice, but two octaves lower than normal, and only heard in the worst of situations. Like the time the police bring you home for underage drinking. You know, that voice.
I always had trouble practicing my ‘father voice’ because once I lowered my voice I couldn’t muster up the necessary anger to make it work. It was more comical than anything else. So, usually I just rehearsed the father phrases without the voice. I started with the very common “ –blank– does not break itself so how did it get broken?”, where –blank– can be window, toilet, door knobs, or just about anything else. I practiced so many phrases that I even got to practice the rare, “Wait until your mother gets home!”
The one phrase I never practiced was “So, where did the booger go?”
It all started the other night when the kids were in the basement playing. I’m diligently slaving away on the computer when suddenly I heard Girl say in a wonderfully loud voice, “Who wants to see my booger?” I was able to pretend I hadn’t heard the question for about two second until squeals of laughter floated up the stairs. Without a doubt, a booger had been picked, and shown to anyone interested in seeing it.
I knew I had to ask girl about the incident because we have a 'no picking your nose' rule at the house. I hoped she hadn’t broken the rule, but I wasn’t optimistic. I waited to confront until later that evening when everyone was getting ready for bed. I went into her room so that it would just be the two of us and asked, “Was that you shouting ‘come look at my booger’?”
Girl turned ghostly pale. It was obvious that I wasn’t supposed to have heard the question. Girl just looked at me.
“So, since you aren’t answering my question, I’ll assume you did indeed say it,” I continued on. “Why did you say it?”
More silence. “Come on. Answer the question. You must have said it for a reason.”
Again, in little more than a whisper, “Because I picked my nose.”
If you don’t have kids, let me tell you, nose picking is a way of life. Which is why rules like ‘no picking your nose’ are developed in an attempt to limit the nasty little deed. I was mildly annoyed because she’s old enough to know better. Then, I decided to ask one last, fateful question. “So where did the booger go?”
I never in a million years expected the response I got. “I wiped it in the carpet” she whispered.
And out came the Daddy voice that I had never been able to use before! “WHAT? Are you kidding me? blah blah blah you're old enough to know better blah blah blah...” and I went on and on and on saying every cliche I swore I would never say.
For the record, she had to wipe down the carpet before she could go to bed!
I always had trouble practicing my ‘father voice’ because once I lowered my voice I couldn’t muster up the necessary anger to make it work. It was more comical than anything else. So, usually I just rehearsed the father phrases without the voice. I started with the very common “ –blank– does not break itself so how did it get broken?”, where –blank– can be window, toilet, door knobs, or just about anything else. I practiced so many phrases that I even got to practice the rare, “Wait until your mother gets home!”
The one phrase I never practiced was “So, where did the booger go?”
It all started the other night when the kids were in the basement playing. I’m diligently slaving away on the computer when suddenly I heard Girl say in a wonderfully loud voice, “Who wants to see my booger?” I was able to pretend I hadn’t heard the question for about two second until squeals of laughter floated up the stairs. Without a doubt, a booger had been picked, and shown to anyone interested in seeing it.
I knew I had to ask girl about the incident because we have a 'no picking your nose' rule at the house. I hoped she hadn’t broken the rule, but I wasn’t optimistic. I waited to confront until later that evening when everyone was getting ready for bed. I went into her room so that it would just be the two of us and asked, “Was that you shouting ‘come look at my booger’?”
Girl turned ghostly pale. It was obvious that I wasn’t supposed to have heard the question. Girl just looked at me.
“So, since you aren’t answering my question, I’ll assume you did indeed say it,” I continued on. “Why did you say it?”
More silence. “Come on. Answer the question. You must have said it for a reason.”
Again, in little more than a whisper, “Because I picked my nose.”
If you don’t have kids, let me tell you, nose picking is a way of life. Which is why rules like ‘no picking your nose’ are developed in an attempt to limit the nasty little deed. I was mildly annoyed because she’s old enough to know better. Then, I decided to ask one last, fateful question. “So where did the booger go?”
I never in a million years expected the response I got. “I wiped it in the carpet” she whispered.
And out came the Daddy voice that I had never been able to use before! “WHAT? Are you kidding me? blah blah blah you're old enough to know better blah blah blah...” and I went on and on and on saying every cliche I swore I would never say.
For the record, she had to wipe down the carpet before she could go to bed!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Late on Christmas Day
It’s official, Christmas is over. It was fun while it lasted, but I’m also glad it’s done. Christmas Day was an exhausting event. The kids rushed down stairs and attacked the presents like a pack of rabid dogs. With Santa’s gifts, four sets of Grandparent gifts, and too many aunts, uncles, cousins and other assorted relatives to mention, there was no shortage of gifts which only added to the mess.
Even though he’s a year older, Boy hasn’t changed at all. For him, it’s still about the video games, electronics, and, of course, toys. But I noticed a subtle shift in the girls’ attitudes. Tiny is still about the dolls and games, but periodically she would lean over and inspect the clothes Girl was getting. Girl, much to my surprise, spent as much time admiring her new clothes as she did her new doll accessories.
Boy barely managed to hide his disinterest in the clothes he did receive.And, it only got worse as the day progressed. By the time Wife decided to start seeing what did and did not fit in the afternoon, I’m not sure he even remembered he’d opened boxes of clothes.
Boy approached trying on clothes with the same zeal that he opened the clothes boxes. “It’s clothes. Do I have to open it?”Undeterred, Wife started with pants. He had the first half of his first leg in when he asked for the first of many, many times “Are we done yet?”
“No,” Wife hissed, “and the more you complain the longer this will take!” Well, that didn’t stop the complaining, and it did take longer than ever.
Then Wife started with the girls. Tiny and Girl were in their natural element! In a fraction of a second we went from Boy’s incessant whining to a Vogue fashion show.I swear disco lights popped out of the ceiling and the whump-whump-whump of the bass started.
As Dad, my job was to sit and watch the fashion show. And, while I sat with a big smile on my face, I couldn’t help but whine to myself, “Are we done yet?”
Even though he’s a year older, Boy hasn’t changed at all. For him, it’s still about the video games, electronics, and, of course, toys. But I noticed a subtle shift in the girls’ attitudes. Tiny is still about the dolls and games, but periodically she would lean over and inspect the clothes Girl was getting. Girl, much to my surprise, spent as much time admiring her new clothes as she did her new doll accessories.
Boy barely managed to hide his disinterest in the clothes he did receive.And, it only got worse as the day progressed. By the time Wife decided to start seeing what did and did not fit in the afternoon, I’m not sure he even remembered he’d opened boxes of clothes.
Boy approached trying on clothes with the same zeal that he opened the clothes boxes. “It’s clothes. Do I have to open it?”Undeterred, Wife started with pants. He had the first half of his first leg in when he asked for the first of many, many times “Are we done yet?”
“No,” Wife hissed, “and the more you complain the longer this will take!” Well, that didn’t stop the complaining, and it did take longer than ever.
Then Wife started with the girls. Tiny and Girl were in their natural element! In a fraction of a second we went from Boy’s incessant whining to a Vogue fashion show.I swear disco lights popped out of the ceiling and the whump-whump-whump of the bass started.
As Dad, my job was to sit and watch the fashion show. And, while I sat with a big smile on my face, I couldn’t help but whine to myself, “Are we done yet?”
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Christmas Holiday
While the Christmas holiday is a time filled with joy and happiness, it also comes with a fair amount of stress. One of the main sources of Christmas stress comes from the combining of holiday traditions. Wife and I both grew up with very strong Christmas traditions, and we both want to see those traditions passed on to the kids. In case you haven't noticed, Wife and I are both fairly strong willed, so we've inched towards mutual agreement as to what "our" traditions would be over the years.
We've had discussions about how to string the lights on the tree. For awhile, this was an annual battle. I would put the lights in straight lines on the tree, and Wife would follow behind me adding more lights and wrapping them around branches. Now, I untangle all the lights, and walk behind her while she strings. In exchange, I’m allowed to pack the suitcases when we go on vacation without interference. It is a fair trade.
We've had discussions about whether the top of the tree should be an angel or a star. I always had the star, and I liked the star. However, I was trumped by “this was my Grandma’s angel. She gave it to me out of all the grandchildren.” I can’t compete with that so we have an angel.
But, the biggest discussion has always been whether there should be presents under the tree prior to Christmas. I always had presents under the tree, and Wife never did. Wife had a good point... the nagging is greatly reduced if there aren’t any presents. And while that's true, the tree just doesn't look complete to me without presents. Every year, I nag, whine, and cajole until Wife caves and puts presents under the tree. And, every year she hates doing it.
So, the other night before dinner, we put out the presents. It was only a few days before Christmas, the kids are getting older, and I assured Wife that nothing could go wrong. It would be fine. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?
The kids descended upon the tree like a pack of rabid dogs. There was a flurry of activity while every box was examined and scrutinized. I noticed Girl closely examining one box in particular. Suddenly, Boy darted off into the other room and came back with a box. There were comparisons and many hushed whispers until Girl walked over to Wife. She stood there, holding a small box, and announced, "This box is the same size as the one Boy got last Christmas. That means I'm getting a Nintendo for Christmas!" and ran off excited as could be.
Yup, you know what happened next. I looked over at Wife, and she was staring at me with her arms crossed. I think her foot was tapping, too. I, of course, couldn’t believe it. Just 10 minutes before, I had said to her, “Nothing can happen! It’s a bunch of boxes with paper on them. What could possibly happen? It’s not like they can guess what’s in the presents!” That’s all it was. 10 minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever been proven wrong that quickly before.
We've had discussions about how to string the lights on the tree. For awhile, this was an annual battle. I would put the lights in straight lines on the tree, and Wife would follow behind me adding more lights and wrapping them around branches. Now, I untangle all the lights, and walk behind her while she strings. In exchange, I’m allowed to pack the suitcases when we go on vacation without interference. It is a fair trade.
We've had discussions about whether the top of the tree should be an angel or a star. I always had the star, and I liked the star. However, I was trumped by “this was my Grandma’s angel. She gave it to me out of all the grandchildren.” I can’t compete with that so we have an angel.
But, the biggest discussion has always been whether there should be presents under the tree prior to Christmas. I always had presents under the tree, and Wife never did. Wife had a good point... the nagging is greatly reduced if there aren’t any presents. And while that's true, the tree just doesn't look complete to me without presents. Every year, I nag, whine, and cajole until Wife caves and puts presents under the tree. And, every year she hates doing it.
So, the other night before dinner, we put out the presents. It was only a few days before Christmas, the kids are getting older, and I assured Wife that nothing could go wrong. It would be fine. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?
The kids descended upon the tree like a pack of rabid dogs. There was a flurry of activity while every box was examined and scrutinized. I noticed Girl closely examining one box in particular. Suddenly, Boy darted off into the other room and came back with a box. There were comparisons and many hushed whispers until Girl walked over to Wife. She stood there, holding a small box, and announced, "This box is the same size as the one Boy got last Christmas. That means I'm getting a Nintendo for Christmas!" and ran off excited as could be.
Yup, you know what happened next. I looked over at Wife, and she was staring at me with her arms crossed. I think her foot was tapping, too. I, of course, couldn’t believe it. Just 10 minutes before, I had said to her, “Nothing can happen! It’s a bunch of boxes with paper on them. What could possibly happen? It’s not like they can guess what’s in the presents!” That’s all it was. 10 minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever been proven wrong that quickly before.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Indoor Baseball
Do you have rooms in your house that aren’t used? I do. My formal living room is one of those rooms. It has a dormered ceiling that’s 12 feet high. It’s a complete waste of space and insures the room stays ice-box cold all winter long. But, the high ceiling makes the room look very impressive. The room would probably look more impressive if it had furniture in it. Needless to say, we barely use it.
Boy uses it more than anyone. He’s turned it into his indoor basketball court. He goes into the room and throws the ball at the wall for hours. Yes, hours. Of course, Tiny who wants to be as good as her big brother at everything, occasionally uses the room too.
The other day, while making dinner, I heard Tiny bouncing the ball all over the room. Eventually, she called Boy into the room. Because he’s nice, he went. Shortly thereafter, Boy returned, rolling his eyes. Then Tiny called Girl into the room and soon she returned rolling her eyes. Finally, Tiny called Wife into the room. By the time Wife returned, I couldn’t take it anymore. “What is going on in there?” I asked.
Wife explained that Tiny was practicing throwing and she was throwing the ball over everyone’s head. As Wife finished explaining, I got the call.
I went to the living room and asked, “What’s going on, Little Girl?”
Tiny explained, “I can throw the ball super high! I threw the ball over Boy. I threw the ball over Girl. I threw the ball over Wife. You’re the biggest so now I have to throw the ball over you!”
This may come as a surprise but I tend to be slightly silly at home. So when Tiny told me to stand there, I extended both my arms as high about my head as I could. “No Daddy! Arms down.” Tiny said.
Then we went through a couple of iterations of what arms down meant. I put my elbows in the air. I put my wrists in the air. I put animals in my hands at my shoulders. It took a while for us to agree what to agree what ‘down’ meant. But, finally, I put my arms down. Tiny leaned back to throw, and just before she launched the ball, I jumped into the air as high as I could. “No Daddy! No jumping either.”
I could tell Tiny was getting frustrated so I stopped and just stood there. So, Tiny leaned back to throw the ball and suddenly I saw a little gleam in her eye. She leaned back a little farther than usual and threw the ball as hard… and as straight as she could.
Let me tell ya, that child is going to be quite a pitcher some day.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Yodeling Christmas Trees
Now that Thanksgiving is officially over, it’s time to focus on Christmas! The first step to getting into the Christmas spirit is getting the Christmas Tree.
In case you weren’t aware, the getting of the tree is a huge event in the lives of little people. You see, the countdown to Christmas officially starts once the Tree is in the house. It doesn’t necessarily have to be fully decorated but once it’s in, the counting of days can begin.
Because of the importance, parents must carefully control the announcement about getting the tree. If you tell the kids too early then you will be nagged to death. It becomes a never ending series of questions not unlike “Are we there yet?” If you announce tree getting time and then miss the date, woe is you! No matter how good the reason, you have delayed Christmas and must deal with the disappointment of the children. A week of “are we there yet?” is nothing compared to a week of Cindy Loo Who’s “Why Daddy? Why?” over and over again.
Anyway, Wife and I talked about it, planned for it, and finally decided to get the tree this past weekend. We even held in announcing it until Sunday night at dinner. That way we were sure that we couldn't miss it. Now, for whatever reason the kids were so excited that they started yodeling. I don’t know why, but they were. And they all yodeled to the best of their ability and to whatever words they thought comprised a yodel. In case you were wondering, yodeling is basically, Yodel-Ay-Ee-Oooo.
The kids were so excited that by the time we loaded them into the car and drove to the tree stand they are ready to explode. As soon as we turned the car off, the kids jumped out, and raced into the little maze of trees.
I live in a fairly rural area so the tree stand was literally on the edge of a field with little to nothing else around it. The trees were all precut so it looked very much like a hedge maze with movable pieces. Besides the attendants, there wasn’t anyone else at the stand so I wasn’t worried about the kids. They were screaming and yelling and having a grand old time. Just for the record, if anyone else had been there, I would have calmed them down, but there wasn’t so why stop the fun.
And, for all the excitement about picking a tree, the kids never even bothered to visit it. They were having too much fun running around.
Of course, they tried to include Wife and I in the fun. Boy fresh from yodeling practice at dinner, ran past me and said “Yodel-A-Hoooo Daddy! You can’t catch me!”
Needless to say, in a high pitched childs voice, this sounds just like A-hole. So, the next time he runs past, I catch him, tickle him for a second, and remind him that it’s Yodel-Ay-Ee-Oooo. We practice for a moment and off he goes again.
We finally decide on a tree, and as I’m paying the kind man, Boy shouts out from across the field of trees, at the top of his lungs HEY DADDY Yodel-A-Hoooole! Daddy A-Hooole.
Yep. Nothing better than buying a Christmas Tree while your son screams Daddy A-Hoooole.
In case you weren’t aware, the getting of the tree is a huge event in the lives of little people. You see, the countdown to Christmas officially starts once the Tree is in the house. It doesn’t necessarily have to be fully decorated but once it’s in, the counting of days can begin.
Because of the importance, parents must carefully control the announcement about getting the tree. If you tell the kids too early then you will be nagged to death. It becomes a never ending series of questions not unlike “Are we there yet?” If you announce tree getting time and then miss the date, woe is you! No matter how good the reason, you have delayed Christmas and must deal with the disappointment of the children. A week of “are we there yet?” is nothing compared to a week of Cindy Loo Who’s “Why Daddy? Why?” over and over again.
Anyway, Wife and I talked about it, planned for it, and finally decided to get the tree this past weekend. We even held in announcing it until Sunday night at dinner. That way we were sure that we couldn't miss it. Now, for whatever reason the kids were so excited that they started yodeling. I don’t know why, but they were. And they all yodeled to the best of their ability and to whatever words they thought comprised a yodel. In case you were wondering, yodeling is basically, Yodel-Ay-Ee-Oooo.
The kids were so excited that by the time we loaded them into the car and drove to the tree stand they are ready to explode. As soon as we turned the car off, the kids jumped out, and raced into the little maze of trees.
I live in a fairly rural area so the tree stand was literally on the edge of a field with little to nothing else around it. The trees were all precut so it looked very much like a hedge maze with movable pieces. Besides the attendants, there wasn’t anyone else at the stand so I wasn’t worried about the kids. They were screaming and yelling and having a grand old time. Just for the record, if anyone else had been there, I would have calmed them down, but there wasn’t so why stop the fun.
And, for all the excitement about picking a tree, the kids never even bothered to visit it. They were having too much fun running around.
Of course, they tried to include Wife and I in the fun. Boy fresh from yodeling practice at dinner, ran past me and said “Yodel-A-Hoooo Daddy! You can’t catch me!”
Needless to say, in a high pitched childs voice, this sounds just like A-hole. So, the next time he runs past, I catch him, tickle him for a second, and remind him that it’s Yodel-Ay-Ee-Oooo. We practice for a moment and off he goes again.
We finally decide on a tree, and as I’m paying the kind man, Boy shouts out from across the field of trees, at the top of his lungs HEY DADDY Yodel-A-Hoooole! Daddy A-Hooole.
Yep. Nothing better than buying a Christmas Tree while your son screams Daddy A-Hoooole.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Lists and Christmas
Between the radio already playing Christmas music and the ads on TV, it appears that Thanksgiving gets more and more marginalized with each passing year. And while I try to avoid joining in the fray, sometimes it can’t be helped. With everything going on and coming up, Wife and I already know that Christmas shopping time will be limited this year. So, while we really didn’t want to, Wife and I went Christmas shopping last weekend while the Grandparents watched the kids.
Basically, we went to Toys’r’us on a Saturday afternoon to avoid all the crazies that will be there after Thanksgiving. Luckily, Wife jump started the whole process by helping the kids develop their Santa wish lists. I hadn’t seen the lists yet, so I was amazed at the difference between them.
Girl completely gets the materialistic side of Christmas. Her latest copy of the American Girl catalog is so dog eared and worn that it looks like a Golden Age Comic book. And, not one of the nice ones. She also started watching the mail for catalogs. She now ‘owns’ a Toys’r’us, Target, Walmart, and several mail order only toy catalogs. It’s amazing. Apparently, when wife asked what she wanted, I wasn’t sure the list of wants would ever stop.
Tiny to a lesser extent gets the idea of the Christmas list. But the problem is that Tiny worships Girl. So whatever Girl wants, Tiny wants, even if Tiny doesn’t really like it. With Tiny, it’s more a matter of filtering through her list to see if she really wants it. At the same time, trying to figure out if there is anything she would like. As parents, we would like Tiny to have something that is uniquely hers, even if she doesn’t know she wants it yet.
Boy on the other hand is a Christmas list disaster. He looked at each catalog once, decided what he wanted and was done. Girl has spent hours, if not days, carefully analyzing every toy and every option and then asking for them all. Boy asked for a Nerf machine gun. That was it.
So, back at Toys’r’us, wife decided to look at the toys the girls were asking for while I got sent off to find something for Boy. It went something like this “You’re a boy. Go figure out what he wants.” Great. Thanks for the guidance honey!
Luckily, I remember that I never had a list as a child either. I remember things showing up at Christmas. Now being older wiser, I realize that Santa brought me things when it was time for me to have them. Or when he thought that I should get them. So, this really became a chance to see what toys I wanted but he could play with until I get them back in a couple of years.
Since he asked, the first thing I went to see was the nerf gun. It was immense. Don’t get me wrong it was super cool and I wish that I could have gotten one as a kid. But it was huge. Seriously, I don’t think he could lift the thing. And, because it’s a nerf gun I know that I won’t get it in a couple of years, so I made a mental note about some smaller ones and continued on my way. Then I went to remote controlled gizzy’s. They have new, non harmful, indoor remote controlled helicopters. I’m sure he’ll love it! I know I will once he goes to bed.
Finally, I ended up in the section that all the boys end up in… Action Figures. I casually looked around and took a couple off the shelf and returned to Wife.
Wife: What are those?
Lee: They're action figures for Boy. I think that he'll really like them.
Wife, incredulous: He will like these? Seriously?
Lee: YES, he will. He's had his eye on this Mr Miracle and Captain Cold for awhile now. I'm pretty sure he wants them. And, I brought this Wonder Woman over for girl. As a stocking stuffer you know. And even a Big Barda for Tiny. That way they can all play together.
Wife: Put them back. I'll shop for Boy later.
Lee: What????
It's almost like she didn't believe me! It's like she thought I would be waiting for the kids to stop playing with them so I could have them. Come to think of it, Boy does have a really cool Batman from last Christmas that he doesn't play with anymore.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Gold Glove
This past weekend turned out to be very pleasant where I live. Saturday was nice but Sunday was better. The temperatures got into the seventies one last time and the entire family was wearing shorts. I have to say, after growing up in New England where it’s occasionally snowing by now, 70’s is pleasant change.
But, with warm weather comes the need to do outdoor chores. So I raked a little, weeded at little, and mowed the yard. For all the Northerners reading this, that’s right, I mowed the yard in November.
Wife and I also forced the kids to stay outside most of the day because we knew there wouldn’t be many more days like this. Eventually, the kids ran out of things to do so Boy suggested a game of kickball.
I’d had enough of yard work so I decided to play. Tiny, like her big brother, is ultra competitive and wanted to play. Girl wanted to play because everyone else was playing. We even managed to get Wife into the act.
Without a doubt, the best kickball player was Daddy. What can I say, I’m just bigger and stronger than the rest of the weaklings in my house. Because of my obviously superior skills it was Boy and Wife against me. Tiny and Girl only wanted to kick, so they were designated kickers.
The game was going smoothly until it came time to prove why I am ‘King Kickball’ at our house. Boy was pitching and Wife was ‘in the field’. I warned Wife to backup. I even told her, you’re too close. Back up!” But she didn’t listed. So I blasted a ball way over her head into the neighbor’s yard. Boy has a very strange look on his face. It was a mix between awe at how far I had kicked it and annoyance that I was going to score.
I scored and we continued to play. A little while later while attempting to end my turn at bat, I popped one up to Wife, who dropped it. Boy again had a strange look on his face. It was part wow what a kick and part annoyance that Mom dropped an easy pop up.
I went to the field and we played some more. Later, Girl and Tiny were on first and second and I needed to score some runs. I kicked a high floater. It was just high enough that when Wife jumped up, arms fully extended she couldn’t reach it. Boy again had a strange look on his face. It was part annoyance that Mom missed yet another ball and part annoyance that he couldn’t get me out.
The next time I was up, Boy turned to Mom and said, “Why don’t you pitch?”
Later that night, Wife and I were talking when I finally had to ask, “Wow. You’re taking the whole kick ball thing pretty well.”
Wife: What do you mean?
Lee: Well, you know. You got subbed out.
Wife: No, Boy wanted to switch.
Lee, in a fit of honesty, Oh ho no no no. You got pulled because of poor performance. You were the hole on the left side of the infield. You were Stone Glove McGee. He put you in pitcher because you couldn’t make an out. You got yanked! SEE YA!
And the look I got told me that I should have gone with ‘yeah, he was being nice and letting you pitch.’
But, with warm weather comes the need to do outdoor chores. So I raked a little, weeded at little, and mowed the yard. For all the Northerners reading this, that’s right, I mowed the yard in November.
Wife and I also forced the kids to stay outside most of the day because we knew there wouldn’t be many more days like this. Eventually, the kids ran out of things to do so Boy suggested a game of kickball.
I’d had enough of yard work so I decided to play. Tiny, like her big brother, is ultra competitive and wanted to play. Girl wanted to play because everyone else was playing. We even managed to get Wife into the act.
Without a doubt, the best kickball player was Daddy. What can I say, I’m just bigger and stronger than the rest of the weaklings in my house. Because of my obviously superior skills it was Boy and Wife against me. Tiny and Girl only wanted to kick, so they were designated kickers.
The game was going smoothly until it came time to prove why I am ‘King Kickball’ at our house. Boy was pitching and Wife was ‘in the field’. I warned Wife to backup. I even told her, you’re too close. Back up!” But she didn’t listed. So I blasted a ball way over her head into the neighbor’s yard. Boy has a very strange look on his face. It was a mix between awe at how far I had kicked it and annoyance that I was going to score.
I scored and we continued to play. A little while later while attempting to end my turn at bat, I popped one up to Wife, who dropped it. Boy again had a strange look on his face. It was part wow what a kick and part annoyance that Mom dropped an easy pop up.
I went to the field and we played some more. Later, Girl and Tiny were on first and second and I needed to score some runs. I kicked a high floater. It was just high enough that when Wife jumped up, arms fully extended she couldn’t reach it. Boy again had a strange look on his face. It was part annoyance that Mom missed yet another ball and part annoyance that he couldn’t get me out.
The next time I was up, Boy turned to Mom and said, “Why don’t you pitch?”
Later that night, Wife and I were talking when I finally had to ask, “Wow. You’re taking the whole kick ball thing pretty well.”
Wife: What do you mean?
Lee: Well, you know. You got subbed out.
Wife: No, Boy wanted to switch.
Lee, in a fit of honesty, Oh ho no no no. You got pulled because of poor performance. You were the hole on the left side of the infield. You were Stone Glove McGee. He put you in pitcher because you couldn’t make an out. You got yanked! SEE YA!
And the look I got told me that I should have gone with ‘yeah, he was being nice and letting you pitch.’
Saturday, November 07, 2009
How Stories Get Told
Since I live the Daily Life posts, I always wonder how they read. I have a sense they’re silly but I not sure if the true silliness comes through in the post. When in doubt, I always ask Jim. This was one of the weeks that I asked.
Jim: I thought it read fine. To me if felt like you held back a lot. I got the sense that Wife was behind you dialing it back a little as it was not as sharp as you normally are in your observations. I don't think a casual reader could tell and it is as relatable as the any daily life post was, so all in all nice post.
Well, I agreed with his assessment. I knew it was just a shade off so I started thinking about it. Then I remembered talking about the whole thing with Wife. It went like this…
Wife: So what are you doing?
Lee: I’m making notes about the party for a blog post.
Wife: How’s it going?
Lee: Good so far. I have a couple of little things but nothing major.
Ye Ed’s Note 1: Ok, I already knew I was capping the story with the hottie comment but I wasn’t going there. Married guys, and those with long term girlfriends, reading this blog understand.
Continuing on, Lee: Got any ideas?
Wife: Nothing really. It seemed pretty normal to me.
Lee: Are you kidding? Come on! Did we go to the same party? At a minimum I have to talk about Wonder Woman and her outfit.
Wife: What? Why Wonder Woman? She’s nice.
Lee: I know she’s nice. Everyone at the party could tell just how nice she was wink wink nudge nudge. Especially the more she drank.
Wife: Oh no you don’t! You can’t say anything about that her.
Lee: Oh come on. Why not?
Wife: Because you’re writing a blog. Whatever you write is out there for the entire world to read. What if she sees?
Lee: Are you kidding me? It’s a blog that 90% comic books. Somehow I really doubt that she, or any of your other friends, read it.
Wife: Whatever. Someone might see so you can’t say anything mean about Wonder Woman.
Lee: That’s just setting me up to fail. Any observation about her could be seen as mean by someone. If I can’t talk about WW then help me with something else. What did you see?
Wife: How about when you were talking about cartoons?
Lee: Ok that’s good. Anything else?
Wife: Playing the Wii after doing shots?
Lee: Eh, not great but I can make something out of it. Now I need a capper to wrap it all up.
Ye Ed’s Note 2: I don’t think drinking and playing the Wii is all that unique, which is why I didn’t talk about it. Not to mention, the 40 year old birthday boy became a complete rear elliptical exhaust port when playing. If I couldn’t be nice about Wonder Woman there wasn’t a chance I was going to be nice about a fat, drunk, ball o’lard with a Wii ego.
Wife: How about the size of the slices of cake?
Lee: The size of cake slices?
Wife: They gave everyone really big pieces of cake. Almost too big.
Lee: Maybe for me and you. I definitely got the impression that was standard size for them. Of course they’re already twice the size of us.
Wife: YOU CANNOT SAY THAT.
Lee: What now? Fine, fine, fine. I’ll work with the cartoons and Wii stuff.
And while working on the post, I realized that the cake and Wii stories just weren't funny. They might have been interesting but they weren't funny. I wasn't about to tell Wife they weren't funny so I just went with my original ideas. Therefore, if the post seemed watered down it’s because my wife wouldn’t let me say anything mean about anyone.
Jim: I thought it read fine. To me if felt like you held back a lot. I got the sense that Wife was behind you dialing it back a little as it was not as sharp as you normally are in your observations. I don't think a casual reader could tell and it is as relatable as the any daily life post was, so all in all nice post.
Well, I agreed with his assessment. I knew it was just a shade off so I started thinking about it. Then I remembered talking about the whole thing with Wife. It went like this…
Wife: So what are you doing?
Lee: I’m making notes about the party for a blog post.
Wife: How’s it going?
Lee: Good so far. I have a couple of little things but nothing major.
Ye Ed’s Note 1: Ok, I already knew I was capping the story with the hottie comment but I wasn’t going there. Married guys, and those with long term girlfriends, reading this blog understand.
Continuing on, Lee: Got any ideas?
Wife: Nothing really. It seemed pretty normal to me.
Lee: Are you kidding? Come on! Did we go to the same party? At a minimum I have to talk about Wonder Woman and her outfit.
Wife: What? Why Wonder Woman? She’s nice.
Lee: I know she’s nice. Everyone at the party could tell just how nice she was wink wink nudge nudge. Especially the more she drank.
Wife: Oh no you don’t! You can’t say anything about that her.
Lee: Oh come on. Why not?
Wife: Because you’re writing a blog. Whatever you write is out there for the entire world to read. What if she sees?
Lee: Are you kidding me? It’s a blog that 90% comic books. Somehow I really doubt that she, or any of your other friends, read it.
Wife: Whatever. Someone might see so you can’t say anything mean about Wonder Woman.
Lee: That’s just setting me up to fail. Any observation about her could be seen as mean by someone. If I can’t talk about WW then help me with something else. What did you see?
Wife: How about when you were talking about cartoons?
Lee: Ok that’s good. Anything else?
Wife: Playing the Wii after doing shots?
Lee: Eh, not great but I can make something out of it. Now I need a capper to wrap it all up.
Ye Ed’s Note 2: I don’t think drinking and playing the Wii is all that unique, which is why I didn’t talk about it. Not to mention, the 40 year old birthday boy became a complete rear elliptical exhaust port when playing. If I couldn’t be nice about Wonder Woman there wasn’t a chance I was going to be nice about a fat, drunk, ball o’lard with a Wii ego.
Wife: How about the size of the slices of cake?
Lee: The size of cake slices?
Wife: They gave everyone really big pieces of cake. Almost too big.
Lee: Maybe for me and you. I definitely got the impression that was standard size for them. Of course they’re already twice the size of us.
Wife: YOU CANNOT SAY THAT.
Lee: What now? Fine, fine, fine. I’ll work with the cartoons and Wii stuff.
And while working on the post, I realized that the cake and Wii stories just weren't funny. They might have been interesting but they weren't funny. I wasn't about to tell Wife they weren't funny so I just went with my original ideas. Therefore, if the post seemed watered down it’s because my wife wouldn’t let me say anything mean about anyone.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
The Birthday Party
Over the years, I’ve noticed that everyone seems to have the same milestones or events. For the most part, everyone graduates from college, gets married, has kids, and a few even get divorced. It’s a very linear progression. This weekend I experienced the next milestone. I attended my first 40th birthday party!
40th birthday parties are full of people at one of the various milestones. There are the couples that are still happily married, married and it’s just a matter time until they get divorced, married and should be divorced but one or the other is too chicken to file, and the already divorced singleton.
To make it even more momentous, because of Halloween, it was a costume 40th birthday party. There was the “rock band groupie” costume, a goth, clown, shrek, and even a pirate. But the costume that really stuck out was Wonder Woman. Only a couple of years past 40, Wonder Woman was still the oldest person in attendance. And she was out to prove that she still had it. When asked why she chose a Wonder Woman costume, she replied “I’ve always wanted to be Wonder Woman and a Lady Bug. This year I decided to be Wonder Woman.” The sad part, when someone made a reference to Linda Carter (and there were lots of them) we all knew what they were talking about.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed Wonder Woman’s costume as much as anyone but considering she had the least amount of clothes on at the party, it might have been slightly inappropriate. Did I mention she didn’t bring her husband? She left him at home to watch the kids. And later that night, when she couldn’t see, he came and got her. She fell directly into the chicken category.
The conversation at 40th parties changes too. At one point, the guys were in the kitchen discussing the nuances to the Backyardigans dance. Who could do it and who couldn’t! It eventually devolved into a heated discussion about the merits of Bugs Bunny and how he was much cooler than SpongeBob Squarepants. And, for the record, Bugs was waaayyyyy cooler. Somehow, I don't remember this topic at my 21st, 25th, or even 30th birthday party.
Eventually, Wife and I went home. As soon as we were out of the driveway, Wife immediately launched into “Can you believe that woman?”
Lee: What woman?
Wife: What ever her name was. Groupie.
Lee: What about her? She seemed nice.
Wife: Blah blah blah can you believe her blah blah blah hitting on my husband blah blah blah.
There were some facts and figures but I really didn't hear anything past 'hitting on my husband.' All I could think was, “I still got the mojo. I’m still a hottie. Short, chubby, divorced chicks dig me! Oh yyyeeeaaahhh! ”
40th birthday parties are full of people at one of the various milestones. There are the couples that are still happily married, married and it’s just a matter time until they get divorced, married and should be divorced but one or the other is too chicken to file, and the already divorced singleton.
To make it even more momentous, because of Halloween, it was a costume 40th birthday party. There was the “rock band groupie” costume, a goth, clown, shrek, and even a pirate. But the costume that really stuck out was Wonder Woman. Only a couple of years past 40, Wonder Woman was still the oldest person in attendance. And she was out to prove that she still had it. When asked why she chose a Wonder Woman costume, she replied “I’ve always wanted to be Wonder Woman and a Lady Bug. This year I decided to be Wonder Woman.” The sad part, when someone made a reference to Linda Carter (and there were lots of them) we all knew what they were talking about.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed Wonder Woman’s costume as much as anyone but considering she had the least amount of clothes on at the party, it might have been slightly inappropriate. Did I mention she didn’t bring her husband? She left him at home to watch the kids. And later that night, when she couldn’t see, he came and got her. She fell directly into the chicken category.
The conversation at 40th parties changes too. At one point, the guys were in the kitchen discussing the nuances to the Backyardigans dance. Who could do it and who couldn’t! It eventually devolved into a heated discussion about the merits of Bugs Bunny and how he was much cooler than SpongeBob Squarepants. And, for the record, Bugs was waaayyyyy cooler. Somehow, I don't remember this topic at my 21st, 25th, or even 30th birthday party.
Eventually, Wife and I went home. As soon as we were out of the driveway, Wife immediately launched into “Can you believe that woman?”
Lee: What woman?
Wife: What ever her name was. Groupie.
Lee: What about her? She seemed nice.
Wife: Blah blah blah can you believe her blah blah blah hitting on my husband blah blah blah.
There were some facts and figures but I really didn't hear anything past 'hitting on my husband.' All I could think was, “I still got the mojo. I’m still a hottie. Short, chubby, divorced chicks dig me! Oh yyyeeeaaahhh! ”
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