MarriedGeeks

Why We Couldn’t Live In a Fireworks State

2009-07-10T15:12:00.001-07:00

Why, you ask, could we not live in a state that legally sells fireworks? Because my family is a bunch of pyromaniacs! Seriously, give them a wick and a match and they’ll think they just won the lottery. This is especially true of Greg. I had to put a pan under his chin as we drove around Oregon. If you listened carefully, you’d hear the drip, drip, drip of his drool every time we passed a side-of-the-road Fireworks Depot. And there were a lot of them. Subsequently, there was a LOT of drool.

The night of July 4th, we went to the bay in Newport to watch the big fireworks show. We showed up a few hours early, unsure of whether or not Greg would have to fight to get close enough to feed his fix of fireworks fumes. We staked claim at a perfect spot on the edge of the bay, right near the Rogue brewery. In case the fireworks fumes didn’t feed his olfactory needs, the hops ones would.

Only one problem. It was the foggiest night of our entire trip. And I mean the kind of fog where you wonder if you should have put a GPS signal on the car for fear of never seeing it again. This was our view of the bay:

At first we were concerned we wouldn’t be able to see the fireworks, but then we discovered we had nothing to worry about. We were smack dab in the middle of a whole slew of people with the same drive to watch something explode as Greg. The kids had a blast (literally) with the fireworks Greg snuck out and bought. Check out the look on Braedyn’s face! He’s all, “yeah, I could do this for a living.” Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree!

I guess I can’t say it was ALL fun. For Emily I’d say it was about 3 parts fun, 1 part fear:

Speaking of fear, Greg lit a little bomb-type firework (hey, I don’t know the word – I’m NOT the junkie!). It went off just as a poor gentleman walked by - a poor gentleman who happened to be a Vietnam veteran. He was a good sport about it, so I’d say it was about 2 parts fun, 2 parts fear for him. You can see him walking unaware of what lay ahead just over Greg’s right elbow in this shot:

Some mischievous peeps started lighting Class C fireworks only about 15 yards behind us in some RV parking. These, I had to be informed, are the big-big fireworks that are used in the shows and which happen to be illegal in Oregon. Well, I’m glad these bad-boys-bad-boys-whatcha-gonna-do brought and lit these because the fireworks we had come to see hadn’t started by 10:30 pm. The kids were about to pass out, either from exhaustion or from the exhaust. Either way, we had to pack it up.

Even though we didn’t get to see the “official” show of Newport, we really enjoyed ourselves, largely because the community of pyros was such a welcoming and fun crowd.

My GPSed track

2009-07-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

Hi!

Have a look at my new track:

http://gpsed.com/track/3888703012709956608

Sent from my iPhone

2009-07-03T10:28:00.001-07:00

How Lame

2009-07-03T08:38:00.001-07:00

I spent 40 minutes, 40 minutes of my vacation I won't get back, writing, copying/pasting images into an ail to be autoposted only to have them not show in the post.

Lame.

But I still love my iPhone.

Sent from my iPhone

Reality Show Needs Funding

2009-07-03T08:26:00.001-07:00

I'm on vacation typing this my phone so excuse the brevity and formatting.

I do enjoy my job, but seriously folks, how can you NOT want to sit and do this all day, every day.

If some crazy ass T.V. Exec wants to take me up on this and put me up in a beach house, make me indepently wealthy and see how long I can do absolutely nothing every day, I am up for the challenge. Viewers of "Beach Bum" will likely findy my daily adventures of beach combing, photoraphing tide pools and watching the fog rolling in RIVETING.

Viewers WON'T see me doing Tai Chi in the mist. Look very carefully. The dot dead center where beach meets water is the Oregon Mist Tai Chi monster. Expending that much energy scares the living daylights out of me.

I couldn't run though, I was too busy being lazy.

Sent from my iPhone

Calling All Tooth Fairies

2009-06-28T17:29:00.001-07:00

We’re getting ready to go pick up Greg’s mid-life crisis vehicle (our little MLC) and to spend a much needed week near the ocean. In fact it is just bout as close as you can get to the ocean without being on a 42’ sailboat owned by a certain husband’s cousin, sailing across the Juan de Fuca straight. Memories, misty water colored memories. I digress. Anyway, I’m hoping this year will go better than the last time we went to the coast two years ago when Emily refused to sleep. In fact, if you listened carefully you could hear her mumbling something like:

I am Sam
I am Sam

Sam I am

That Sam-I-am!
Than Sam-I-am!
I do not like
that Sam-I-am!

Do you like
deep sleep in a bed?

I do not like that,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
deep sleep in a bed.

Will you like to sleep
in a car?
Will you like to sleep
in some arms?

Not in a car.
Not in some arms.
Not in a house.
Not in a blouse.

I will not sleep here or there.
I will not sleep anywhere.
I will not sleep deep in a bed.
I do not like that, Sam-I-am.

At the time we didn’t worry about her frightening mumbling so much as we worried about our ability to function as a human being during our trip. Because, trust me, it was a struggle not to look like a troglodyte seeing light for the first time. A troglodyte addicted to coffee who has had his stash taken away for months. One that had to use toothpicks to keep his eyes open. Yeah, THAT kind of pretty.

So, we’re worried about our ability to sleep a TOTAL of eight hours over the week, let alone consecutively each night. This year we have an additional concern. My son’s teeth. Last night at dinner, Braedyn managed to turn my stomach to mush. Not in the cute, hey look at me do my own hair kind of way or the watch me slide down this slide by myself kind of way. No. He took his index finger and wiggled his bottom tooth. I may as well be in an operating room elbow deep in someone’s intestines because watching him wiggle his tooth does the same thing to my stomach. RETCH. Just ask Jacob who will be 18 soon how I reacted when he wiggled his teeth in his wee youth. You got it. RETCH.

In addition to losing my dinner, I started to cry. My son is growing up! I’ve told him he’s not allowed to do that, but he heeds that warning just about as much as when I tell him to stop playing at bed time. When he was 5 months old I saw that first tooth coming through and I raced him to the nearest Kiddie Kandids for the last of his toothless wonder grins. Well, until he’s 98 and fanatically licking his lips.

So, here we are, getting ready for our vacation and Braedyn has a loose tooth. I’m calling all tooth fairies and asking them to please, please have some spare change with them while we are away from home. The tooth fairy will not be able to scrounge around our house for a gem to trade the tooth for, so she had better be prepared! What could be worse than not finding anything in our vacation rental to give for this monumental first tooth loss? Well, not finding anything AND being sleep-deprived I suppose.

At least my son is still fully enveloped by his innocent youth, even with that revolting loose tooth. I overheard this conversation yesterday:

Braedyn to Emily: Will you let me marry you when I grow up?

Emily: No.

Braedyn: Awww!

Emily: <muffled noise>

Braedyn: What? You’ll let me marry you when I grow up?

Emily: Yeah.

Braedyn: Will you go in my room with me?

Emily: Why?

Braedyn: Because I’m scared by myself.

And then later to me:

Braedyn: When I’m a daddy, and Emily is a mommy, she’ll let me marry her.

Good to know. I guess if that comes to fruition I have more things to worry about than teeth falling out.

Fathers Day 2009

2009-06-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

How Father's Day 2009 will be remembered.

Look at All the Money You Could Save!

2009-06-15T14:36:00.001-07:00

I will admit it to you. I’m one of the millions of people who have a gym membership. And don’t use it. I was ~~pushed~~ encouraged to join because I was informed I needed to get the feel-good endorphins pumping through my body through exercise, and because a professional I have a tremendous amount of respect for prescribed this, I took it upon myself to make it so. I sucked it up and joined a gym. Yeah, I know there are other ways to work up a sweat, but we have two small children in the house. ALL. THE. TIME. (If we went that route and waited until they were in bed each time, I promise I’d lock the door.) But come on, let’s be real. The professional said at least three times a week for 30 minutes each time. Pfffft!

Gym shopping was actually fun. I had three in mind that I was going to check out, but only made it to the first two. The third one was touted as a meat-market by both gym #1 and gym #2, so I took their word for it and stayed away from hunky young people ready to pump each other up. I didn’t want to seem like a chaperone after all.

I chose gym #1. Why?

They have a kids center where I can drop off my munchkins while I work out, so I can’t very well use them as an excuse as to why I SUCK AT GETTING MY NOT-SO-FIRM BUTT THERE.
The average age of my fellow sweaters is mid-thirties, so I won’t feel like a dirty old woman as my tongue hangs out at all the tight youngens as I lighten the weight load on each machine before I take my turn.
All of the cardio machines have a TV hooked up to them, so I can’t possibly say I’m bored while exercising. I can zone out on crap TV. What could be better to get through the monotony of bicycling, climbing, or running in place? Unless, you know, each and every available channel is playing cooking shows. That’s right. *GASP* You can now say you know someone that doesn’t like cooking shows. Of course, those channels are probably all banned from the gym anyway. Otherwise, wouldn’t that be considered at least a little bit of a form of cruel and unusual punishment? The gym wants people to stay and work out; not go home and binge after all.
They have a racquetball court. Greg and I can drop the kids off at the kids center and then duke it out in the court. Well, we all know how that one turned out.
The place was freaking huge! There was a nice amount of space between machines, so no worries of needlessly offending the olfactory senses.

So why don’t I go? Blame Greg. Seriously; it’s his fault! For “my birthday” he got me a Wii Active, the fitness video game. And you know what? It rocks. IV Real. I can work out for 25 minutes, work up a sweat, get my heart racing, and all in the comfort of my ugliest clothes ever. Barefoot even. I don’t have to DRIVE anywhere. I don’t have to look like a dork in front of others. Well, besides my family, and they already know I’m a dork and love me in spite of it.

If you are looking for a way to work out at home and save the cost of a monthly gym membership but are tired of the same old Yoga tape you’ve had since the 1980’s, this is really the way to go. It’s 60 bucks (assuming you are geeks like us and already have the Wii gaming system), and it provides such a variety of exercises that it keeps it interesting and new. And it doesn’t let you slack at all. I’ve tried. Several times.

Now if I could just figure out a way to slack on that damn gym contract I signed.

BRRRRRRR

2009-06-14T16:05:00.001-07:00

Susanne and I took the kids to the river today. We are trying very hard to socialize Charmin so we can work on our training in various locations.

We visited Rock Park which was recently completely landscaped anew. It looks great. For those of you not of this area, the Truckee River flows from Lake Tahoe and the water can be well…a bit chilly.

I had a bit of fun trying to get Charmin to go into the water.

“Get the stick, get the stick!” After three or four sticks thrown in and Charmin simply looking at me like “Dude, you are crazy” I felt I had to be the big man and lead her into the river. Let me assure you I didn’t want to get in the water any more than she did, so I stepped out onto a rock in the river.

It started out ok. She looked a little skittish.

Then the panic set in or her girly parts hit the cold water.

I think her claws left scratch marks in the rocks.

Goodnight Koko

2009-06-10T00:18:00.000-07:00

A letter to my two youngest children, not yet old enough to understand.

Emily and Braedyn I am sorry I was not able to tell you the complete truth. I told you a story as close to the truth as best I could to spare you the pain that your mother and I are feeling. We did try to share with you as much as we could. We didn’t want you to just wonder where Koko went, or lie outright. So we did our best. When we told you that Koko was leaving, you yelled at me, you told me you didn’t like me anymore and that’s ok. At that moment, I didn't like myself very much for going down the path I chose but I had no choice.

I told you that she is in a place where she is happy and has other dogs to play with. I told you she is in a place with no children and no one to bite. I will continue to tell you that until you are old enough to read this, until you are old enough to understand. I hope you will forgive me and understand I did it because I didn’t want you to hurt or be hurt.

The truth is, she is gone. The truth is although Koko seemed to be the perfect dog, a gentle dog there was something in her that we just could not see. Something that we could not predict. Something we never saw even when you were putting your underwear on her head, or throwing a blanket over her.

The first clue was when she bit the vet and drew blood. This was nearly enough to put your mother and I over the edge. Koko almost went away then, but I convinced myself and your mother that it was the situation, the stress, the fear, the feeling cornered in a strange place. She bit the vet to protect herself. That’s what I told your mother. That’s what I told myself. But we both knew there was something beneath. Something we could feel.

The final straw that something was not right happened this last weekend. Koko bolted out of the house and attacked the neighbors dog. A small fluffy animal no larger than a child’s stuffed animal and she took it in her mouth and shook it like she meant to kill it. She shook it so viciously that I was shocked by it and was sure she would kill it. I was appalled that my gentle Koko would do such a thing. Then the owner of the dog stepped in to save his pet and she tried to bite him.

And I stepped in.

And she tried to bite me. She had never done that.

I want you both to know that the the fury in her bared snapping teeth and wide eyes staring at me, staring INTO mine scared me. I had never had a dog of my own ever scare me like that.

It was not any easy decision for us and it was not one made in haste or without discussing with the vet or the trainer.

In no way did I ever want to have a dog in my house that could hurt you and I didn’t want to give her away knowing she could hurt someone else. So we decided to have her put to sleep.

I have only had to do this once before when my dog Bear was so sick she was dying and it was to stop her pain that I chose to put her to sleep. Never have I consciously chosen to put an animal to sleep for any other reason. This breaks my heart to tell you that she is gone because of this. Because I called the vet. Because I drove her there. Because I gave her the tranquilizers.

I did this because I love you all so very much.

And I loved her very much. And I sat with her. I held her and I talked to her until she was gone. And I cried over our loss. And it breaks my heart. And I will always remember her as a loving member of this family as you should too.

From September 2008

Remember how she slept with her paws crossed.
Remember how she ate your Bubbles and drank from your baths no matter how dirty and soapy they were.
Remember how whenever we played on the floor she wanted to play too.
Remember how she would NEVER bring back the tennis ball when you threw it.

Remember the good things about her. I will because there were so many more great times with her than bad.

From 1-18-2009

So when you are old enough to read this and to understand, I hope you can forgive me and understand why I did not tell you the truth.

Understand that it hurt me to say goodnight to Koko one last time.

Dad.

Hang On, We’re Almost at 50!

2009-06-02T14:17:00.001-07:00

No, no, I’m not talking about age here. Well, I guess in a way I am.

Greg has a way of wearing me down when it comes to getting new stuff. It generally takes me a while to warm up to the idea of purchasing something like an iPhone, or a shed for the yard, or new tires on the car. Greg likes to tell the story about how I really didn’t think we needed to get a DVR when they first came out, but he kept talking about it, sending me emails, researching the product, hinting at it, and playing the recording of how great it would be while I slept to stir the subconscious consumer beast within.

And it works. I love our DVR. (So does my bladder.) And my iPhone. And the shed for the yard. OK, the new tires aren’t very exciting but they do provide quite the peace of mind.

To date, he has gotten several new laptops, a motorcycle, and the DVR this way. I am certain he will soon be getting his own iPhone since he has been bombarding me with hints (subtle and not so subtle) so that I cave or go crazy, or both. It’s not that I don’t want him or us to have nice or new things. It’s not that at all. I just prefer to get things at a much discounted rate at garage sales. Waiting to see an iPhone on a card table in front of someone’s house on a Saturday morning may take too long for Greg though. Go figure. *Shrug.*

His latest burning desire, well, besides me (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), is being presented to me over and over and over and over again with a slightly different angle this time. THIS time it’s all about Greg feeling old. He has declared himself in the throws of a mid-life crisis. And what would soften this self-imposed blow? Thankfully, it is not a Corvette and an 18 year-old (although we ALL know how he likes them young. JUST KIDDING!). No, he has no desire for the sports car or a fling. Thank FSM. Instead, the ONLY thing that will successfully ease the pain of this transition is a VW bus. That’s right. The man wants to turn himself into a hippy. Thankfully, he wants the family along for the groovy ride.

So over the last few months, during the depths of despair of his self-professed mid-life crisis, Greg has thoroughly researched what years are better than others, which engines have a little more umph, which ones had an A/C option, and which ones can have an after-market three-point harness installed to match today’s seat belt standards. Over these last few months, he has sent me many (and by many, I mean TONS) of pictures of buses for sale. You see, he is wearing me down.

Then last week, he firmly planted me on Team Mid-Life Crisis. He’s flung me, albeit gently, into pro-bus mode. How did he triumph, you ask? He took me to look at one. You see, there is a soft spot in my heart for these little gems. My mother and I traveled from El Paso up into Canada and back down the coast over a two month period in one of these things when I was growing up. Not only did we take on the open road, singing 100 Bottles of Bear on the Wall, we did this trip twice, once when I was about 8 and again at 15. As a child I used to love sprawling out in the back while my mom drove us to our next destination. (Of course, my kids will be firmly planted in their 5-point harness ~~cages~~ car seats.) Camping and crabbing on the sand dunes of Dillon Beach was by far the best time we had in our little bus. It really does bring back great memories.

So we’re actively making plans for a purchase (and subsequent sale of our current mommy-mobile). Now I am just trying get my lead foot to understand that “giving her all she’s got” means, we’re almost at 50 mph!

Oh, and I am also practicing my Spicoli-sounding version of, “Duuuuuuuuude.” I’m getting pretty good. It’s actually a little uncanny.

If I Say Yes, I Get What I Want, Right?

2009-05-31T19:29:00.001-07:00

My children don’t listen to me. Nope. Instead they have figured out when to nod, when to say yes or no, and how to wait to roll their eyes until I’ve turned my head, all in such a way that makes me believe they are listening to me and soaking in the wisdom that as a parent I am suddenly dispensing so liberally.

Today was an example of such sly behavior from my children, Emily in particular. Each year we go up to “open camp” for Greg’s family’s campsite, a job which entails raking up a year’s worth of pine needles over a good chunk of land and disposing of them, taking down the 5th wheel’s winter roof, and setting up the outdoor sitting area. Yeah, I know, some of you are probably thinking camping and 5th wheel don’t belong in the same sentence. To that I say, “Get your Grizzly Adams lovin’ self out of my face and leave city-loving folk like me to their own kind of camping. Pfffft.”

Back to why my children are atrocious listeners… On our way up to camp this morning, Greg needed to nurse a hangover with some greasy food, so we stopped at the place that serves grease with a side of breakfast better than anywhere. McDonald’s. As Greg hopped out of the car, the kids said they wanted hash browns, aka grease served in an golden oval piece of potato-ish substance. The kids had already had breakfast. And a snack. It was 9:45 in the morning, but they still wanted something from the “lunch house.” Greg walked away, and I told the kids that they might have to share a hash brown. Emily, three-year-old Emily, Emily with a fierce stubborn streak, wasn’t down with that. She insisted that she wanted her OWN hash brown. Our “conversation” went like this:

Emily: I want my *own* hash brown.
Me: Emily, you and Braedyn may have to share a hash brown. You’ve already eaten. This is just a treat.
Emily: But, I want my own hash brown. I want my own hash brown, Mommy. Mommy, I want my *own* hash brown.
Me: Emily. You will get what you get and you will appreciate it. Whatever Daddy…
Emily: But I want my own hash brown.
Me: EMILY. You will get what you get and you will be appreciative of whatever Daddy brings...
Emily: But I want my own hash brown. Mommy, um, I want my own hash brown.
Me: EMILY! I don’t know what Daddy is going to get, but whatever he brings back, you will tell him “thank you.” Do you under…
Emily: I’m trying to talk to you, Mommy. Mommy, I want my own…
Me: Emily! Do you understand what I am saying?
Emily: I’m trying to talk to you, Mommy!
Me: You can talk to me AFTER you let me know you understand what I am telling you. Do you understand what I said?
Emily: <Silence.>
Me: Do you understand?
Emily: YES!
Me: OK, now you can talk to me, Emily. Thank you.
Emily: Mommy? Um. I want my own hash brown.

Greg came back with a hash brown for each kid. So, spoiled, STUBBORN Emily got this:

And after that, I so needed this:

Instructions Schmuctions

2009-05-31T07:33:00.001-07:00

Susanne went garage sale shopping AGAIN. She brought home another 10 items and I can’t wait to see what 10 items she plans to get rid of.

That was our agreement so that our house didn’t just keep filling up. Seeing as she goes every Saturday during garage sale “season”. Something comes in, something goes out. I think the only thing that has gone out the window is that rule.

Regardless, she gets some great deals and for 2 dollars she came home with two tubs full of Bionicle parts, with NO instructions.

Who needs instructions. Braedyn and I got four, yes FOUR Bionicles of our own making out of them.

There were leftover parts, but every man knows anything needing “some assembly required” always comes with extra parts. Right?

One Is The Loneliest Number

2009-05-29T00:09:00.001-07:00

I was never Captain Confidence growing up, but that never stopped me from doing things by myself. I would go to movies in college ALONE, FSM forbid. My family would GASP when I told them I was going to dinner and a movie ALONE. My sister just couldn’t understand how in the world I would do such a thing and I never understood what all the fuss was about.

I never understood the social dysfunction of doing things like dinner and a movie all by your lonesome, until now.

I realized all this time I wasn’t paying attention.

I am the same guy who when I first went shopping at Trader Joe’s didn’t realize the woman behind me was trying to flirt with me. I not only didn’t realize she was flirting after the 12th time her shopping cart rammed into me, I didn’t figure it out until after I told my wife the story 8 years later and she explained it to me. I don’t think I was paying much attention at all too many things in life, until now.

This last week I stopped at Home Depot on my way back to work to look for water feature supplies. On my way out I stopped to look at some flowers and as I looked up from them, across from me was an attractive woman around my age (yes, over 40) who was not in any subtle manner checking me out. She even tried to make small talk. If I had been 15 years younger I would not have even realized she was standing there.

I was not paying attention.

So now I am paying attention. Some old guy switch has been flipped and I see things I never noticed before.

Today at work due to a serious of unfortunate events I had no car, I had no lunch and I had only the option of work cafeteria food, Chinese food or the best goddamn sushi in all of Reno within walking distance. I came to this conclusion 20 minutes into the lunch hour and as such decided to go (drum roll please, insert gasp here) ALONE.

The lunch event went something like this.

Greg enters the restaurant and approaches the hostess. He is alone.
Greg (speaking to the hostess): I would like to eat at the sushi bar.
Hostess (looking around at the empty foyer):How many?
Greg: Just one.
Hostess: Just one? (pause) Ok, follow me.
Hostess escorts Greg to the sushi bar where a waiter offers to seat him.
Waiter:How many will be dining today?
Greg:Just one.
Waiter (pausing):You are alone? Just one?
Greg:Yes, just me.
The waiter motions to an empty seat at the end of the sushi bar and Greg takes a seat.
Waiter to Sushi Chef:Just one. He is eating alone.
Sushi Chef (pausing):Alone?
Waiter: Yes, just one.

I am almost certain the hostess was checking me out, but there were no grocery cart impacts for me to be sure.

Alpha

2009-05-26T15:14:00.001-07:00

I was unloading the back of the Jeep when I heard it. My heart pounding audibly, I ran through the garage and threw the door open to the house, making the sound of the screams more intense. The taste of fear was bitter and overwhelming.

The screams. The snarls. The shrieks.

The fight.

The length of time to get to the back yard was excruciating. As I stumbled across Legos and Barbie parts, my mind was racing. Did the kids get caught in the middle of it this time? After all, wasn’t it only a matter of luck that they hadn’t been too close to one yet?

Another dog fight.

Two dogs that go at it and don’t hold back. Each one wanting to be dominant, they rival for top dog. Skidding into the back yard, I scanned frantically for the kids, looking past the blur of teeth and flying fur. Relieved, I see one child hovered in a corner, shaking and screaming, but safe. The other, having found refuge in my bedroom, was screaming from under the safety of my bed’s covers.

Enough. BAAAAAGH!

Proof They Aren’t The Mailman’s Children

2009-05-24T08:47:00.001-07:00

Well, I finally have proof. The kids are definitely Susanne’s and mine. Proof that dispels all those rumors about the mailman, about an accidental switch at the hospital.

To start, they are both playing video games.

Now look closely, very very closely to the far right just above the Wii-mote in the bottom right corner.

Emily has the remote control.

My mad video game skills plus this = rock solid, indisputable proof.

The Difference Between Boys & Girls

2009-05-22T15:15:00.001-07:00

Yesterday when I came home from work my son was counting his money. Now mind you all the money he “saves” is stolen from my wallet or the change that falls from my pockets when I lie on the floor (more evidence that I have become my father).

“Daddy, I have enough money to buy a Bionicle!” he said with a face illuminated from within and a grin so large I thought he had surgery to look like Jack Nicholson’s Joker.

So off we went to Target (tar·JAY) to buy the “large” Bionicle {for you HUGE Bionicle fans (you know who you are), Malum #8979} which I quickly learned was defined by the number of pages (23) in the assembly instructions.

I started this trip a little late in the day and as such we barely had time to put it together before bed, so there was no time for “fights” between his two Bionicles.

Morning rolls around and Braedyn is in my room tapping my shoulder to get up. He was holding Malum and wearing his Jack Nicholson Joker grin again. I was barely conscious because I had stayed up late watching Californication. All I wanted to do was to throw him into Arkham and go back to sleep. I managed to drag myself to the couch where I rolled in and out of consciousness. Braedyn planted himself on the floor below me and the conversation went something like this:

Braedyn: “Daddy, please play Bionicle with me?”

Me: “hmm… mmph…whaaa?”

Braedyn: “Daddy, please play with me. Let’s fight with the Bionicles”

Me: “hmm… mmph…whaaa?”

Braedyn (loudly): “DADDY, let’s fight?”

Me: “uhh… Can’t you wait until your sister wakes up and you two can fight with the Bionicles?”

Braedyn: “NOOOOOO, all she ever wants to do is talk!”

Oh, buddy, isn't that the truth. Get used to it.

Lesson Learned

2009-05-21T14:43:00.001-07:00

I hereby solemnly swear to always close and lock my bedroom door before getting on my groove thang with my husband. I pinky swear. I Girl Scout promise. I cross my heart. I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monster AND to the Invisible Pink Unicorn.

I am taking this oath before you today because I learned that not adhering to it can have quite a disastrous outcome, one that I hope will not require my children to need some serious therapy later in life. You see, yesterday was my birthday, and I was getting some extra special lovin’ - lovin’ that was long, long, long after the kids’ had fallen asleep for the night - when all of a sudden I hear an itsy bitsy voice from the OPEN door say, “Daddy, why are you making Mommy cry?”

Oh. CRAP.

We convinced Emily that Mommy and Daddy were just playing around, and asked her to please go back to bed. It must have been the use of our Jedi mind trick, “There is nothing to see here; these are not the parents you are looking for” because thankfully, she did not pull one of her insanely strong-willed independence tantrums, and she actually did as she was asked and went back to bed.

We both said a secret thanks to any power that be that she is short and our bed is tall. Then we finished our biznez.

Then, I hear, from the OPEN door, “Daddy, aren’t you supposed to be in BED?” I know! Couldn’t one of us have taken 15 seconds to walk to the door, shut it, and lock it? Evidently not!

This time, Braedyn had sauntered in. Apparently I (yes, I will take the blame) had woken not one, but BOTH children up in the heat of our moment.

Oh. CRAP. Squared.

After a few minutes laden with shock and fear, we checked on them, only to find they were both sound asleep again. Hooray! So what do Greg and I go do? Do we pass out from exhaustion and fear? Not quite. Do we point and waggle fingers at each other placing blame? Hardly. No, we race to Twitter and Facebook about it. Seriously, instead of passing out after, ahem, well you know, or after the adrenaline-pumping, energy-draining fear of hearing your kids’ voices at that very wrong moment, we sat at the table with our respective laptops and joke and laugh about it through Twitter and Facebook.

You’d think tech-savvy peeps might remember how a simple door lock mechanism works. I mean REALLY.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

2009-05-20T07:51:00.000-07:00

I am going to update these sayings as they occur. I don’t want them to be lost.

June 2009
After brushing his teeth tonight, Braedyn had blue toothpaste smeared all over his mouth. Greg filled the palm of his hand with water and asked Braedyn to put his mouth in the water so he could wipe off the toothpaste. Braedyn leaned over and inhaled at the same time, causing him to get a nose full of water. Greg said, “Buddy, I just wanted you to put your mouth in the water,” to which Braedyn replied, “But my nose is too close to my mouth!”

While sitting at the table coloring, Emily made up her own song with these lyrics: “Sometimes Mommy says yes! And sometimes Mommy says no.” Then she told me she didn’t want to go to jail.

5/20/2009
Dad: Emily, since today is your mommy’s birthday I need you to listen to her words, make good choices, not fight with your brother and just try to give mommy a great day. ok?
Emily: Ok daddy, after I finish my movie.

5/2009
I handed Emily a green goldfish cracker while she was coloring. She picked up the green crayon and said, “This is the same color!” In my forever attempt to teach Emily her colors, I asked her what color it was. She replied, “It’s the fish cracker color.”

After seeing a bulging vein in my arm, Emily points to it and says, “That’s what aliens have.”

After finally noticing a wedding picture of Greg and me in the hallway, Emily says to me, “Mommy, when I get bigger, will you marry me?”

I’ve had a cold, so the kids know that I can’t give them kisses on the lips because I don’t want them to catch it. When Greg went in to Emily’s room to kiss her goodnight, she told him not to kiss her on the lips. She had the “hippups” and didn’t want him to catch them.

4/2009
While telling ghost stories in the dark in my closet, Braedyn says: And the monster turned into a giant! A huge giant! Huger than the other giants. Huger than trees! HUGER than squirrels!

Braedyn: Are there people inside the Ninja Turtles?
Greg: No, they are supposed to be real turtles.
Braedyn: <look of slight confusion> But, they aren’t very slow.
Greg: And thus the irony of NINJA turtles.

Emily: Color with me, Mommy.
Me: OK. What color is this? <holding up a marker>
Emily: Ummmmm, I don’t know.
Me: Can you guess?
Emily: No. You guess.

Emily: <dancing>
Me: <smiling at Emily dancing>
Emily: <notices me smiling at her> Stop it! You interrupted me!
Me: Are you sure you aren’t a teenager?

Braedyn: <waking up too early…AGAIN>
Me: <ready to tell him to go back to bed>
Braedyn: Daddy! Did you hear the birds twittering?
Me: Awwwwwww!

3/2009
Emily: I want to catch a fish.
Me: Fun! You want to be a fisherman?
Emily: No! <indignant> I be Fisher EMILY.

2/2009
Emily: Mommy, can I have a scissor?
Me: You mean scissors? Yes, you can have some scissors.
Emily: No, Mommy. Scissor. Just one.

The following is a conversation between Braedyn and Greg during the bedtime reading of the book, The Nightmare Before Christmas:
Braedyn: Daddy, that dog doesn’t have any legs.
Greg: Right. He’s a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But how does he float?
Greg: He floats because he’s a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But he doesn’t have legs. How does he float?
Greg: He’s a ghost, a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But how does he float?
Greg: He’s a GHOST.
Braedyn: But he doesn’t have any legs. How does he do that?
Greg: It’s magic ghost powers.
Braedyn: <clearly satisfied> Oh. OK.

1/2009
Braedyn: Do flies poop?
Me: Yes. Everything poops.
Braedyn: Only people, fish, birds…and strangers poop.

12/2008
Emily: Daddy, your hair is growing. You have to mow it.

Braedyn: Mommy, can I get Hot Wheels for doing chores again?
Me: I don’t know, Braedyn. I’ll have to think about it. Chores are things you really should do to help out around the house without necessarily getting a toy to do it. I mean, I do a lot around the house all the time and I don’t get rewards for it.
Braedyn: Mommy, I’ll let you have one of my Hot Wheels after you do stuff around the house.

As I opened a gift that included a bottle of wine:
Emily, pointing to the wine: HEY! That’s daddy’s cup!
Me: No. His looks like a box.

Braedyn: Emily, your mom doesn’t have a force field on your planet?
Emily: No, she doesn’t.
Braedyn: Mine does.

Emily: Mommy, I want you to sit in my lap.
Me: You would like me to hold you?
Emily: No. I want you to sit in my lap.

11/2008
Braedyn: When Granny was here last night, she let us have ice cream.
Me: Well that was a special treat!
Braedyn: Yeah, she splitted us.
Me: You mean she spoiled you?
Braedyn: Yeah, she spoiled us.

11/04/2008
Me: Today is an important day in our country. We are going to find out who the next President is. Mommy voted and hopes the person she voted for gets the job.
Braedyn: Yeah, but when Daddy gets home can I show him my new Power Rangers phone?

10/2008
Emily: Mommy, what’s your name?
Me: Susanne.
Emily: What's my name?
Me: Emily.
Emily: What's Braedyn's name?

09/2008
Greg to Emily: Who’s your Daddy?
Emily: Mommy is.

Me: How did you get all that ink on your legs?
Braedyn: I don’t know. It just bounced off the paper onto my legs.

Braedyn after I snuck up on him: Agh!!! You fartled me!

Braedyn: Mommy! Emily is going to tell on me!

Braedyn: EMILY! Be quiet! I can’t hear the lightning with you talking!

08/2008
Braedyn: Mommy, Emily wants an Elmo party on her planet.

Emily: Take a picture of my bones.
Braedyn: I can’t! Your skin keeps getting in the way.

Emily: Mommy, turn off the wind!

Emily: (Covering and uncovering her eyes) Pee poo!
Me: Peek-a-boo!
Emily: Pee poo!

Braedyn: Mommy, when I trick my treat, can I be Batman?

Braedyn: Daddy, I remember when you were a kid.
Emily: Daddy, you’re an old guy.

Braedyn: (While trimming his toes) My big toe is getting old.

Braedyn: Mommy, Emily is taking a long time to grow up.

Brilliant Balloon Modeling, Picasso Style

2009-05-19T15:32:00.001-07:00

Last weekend at a saaaaaaaaaaaale, I picked up a bunch of balloons, a manual balloon blower-upper thingy, and an instruction booklet on “Brilliant Balloon Modeling” for a whopping 50 cents. I figured, oh, this could be a fun thing to do with the kids. Uh-huh. Sure it could.

This is kind of how THAT brilliant idea went:

Me: Ok, we’re going to make some balloon animals. <crack open the book>
Emily, Braedyn, and Hannah: <collective> YAY!
Emily: I want a flower!
Braedyn: <after seeing an airplane in the book> Ooh, I want that! An airplane!
Me: OK, let’s try the airplane first. It doesn’t look too hard. (Famous last words.) All right. Step one. Inflate a balloon leaving a six inch tip. Greg is always telling me what six inches is, so I think I can eyeball that. OK. Now, let’s see… Begin the plane’s tail by twisting a 2 1/2 inch bubble, followed by a 1 1/4 inch bubble, which is ear twisted. Ear twisted? WTF?

After some time fumbling…

Me: Hannah, can you give me some room?
Emily: I want a flower!
Me: <grunt>
Braedyn: Can I play with this? <pointing to the blower upper thingy>
Me: Uh, NO! <fumble, fumble, fumble>
Braedyn: I want an airplane!
Hannah: I want a dog!
Me: You guys HAVE to be patient. This is NOT easy! I’ve never done this before. Gimme some space! <growl>

After even more fumbling…

Me: AGH! OK. Here’s your airplane, Braedyn. Just use your imagination.

Yeah, I know. It doesn’t look anything like the picture does it?

Then, the dog:

Shut up.

Then, while trying to make a second dog and a sword, the balloons popped on me. Not one of my favorite things, I must say. So, in a huff, I put all of the stuff back in the bag and told the kids that we would try later. Maybe. Given the look of frustration on my face, they all just ran outside to play and didn’t argue with me.

After today’s fiasco, I have a newfound respect for those damn balloon toting clowns. Creepy or not, that is some serious talent.

Prison Break

2009-05-12T23:09:00.001-07:00

Each and every night after the grownups have had their wine and watched their evening TV it’s time to lockup and power down the house before bed.

One peculiar routine MUST be followed. If Susanne or I do not remember to extend one of the gates we purchased for riot control and lean it against Braedyn’s door we will hear about it. Oh will we hear about it.

Usually we will hear his SCREAMS in the middle of the night because FSM FORBID Charmin is ON HIS BED. You would think she was trying to eat his face or something.

When I was a child not only did my dogs sleep on my bed, but Critter (yes that was her name) and later Sierra (pictured with my brother) would sleep all the way UNDER my covers tucked against my feet. Seriously. How does a dog breathe down there next to a teenage boys feet?

Poor Charmin, she just wants to sleep on the end of his bed. Ok, she may try to lick him before she settles down, but its not like he has any comprehension of where that tongue was 15 minutes earlier during a “cleaning” session.

So each and every night I extend the gate and each and every morning Braedyn TRIES to quietly move the gate. This is my alarm clock. It’s like the TV show Prison Break, except without the tattoos, and with a dog who’s mouth smells like….well, you know.

Back From Nowhere

2009-05-11T13:14:00.000-07:00

It's been sometime since I posted. No, I did not go anywhere and I have not been ill and yet I have been profoundly absent from this blog. This has not slipped past Susanne as she frequently jabs at me on twitter and this blog about my lack of literary proficiency.

There is a great deal of irony to this as it was I who had tried on several occasions to start a he said/she said type website on more than one occasion. It took the ease of Blogger, the need for an outlet for Susanne's creative voice and a poke in the eye with a stick to finally bring this site to fruition.

Of course no one screamed for my return. I assume that was purely from a shock so great from my absence that all readers of this blog were left speechless and unable to type nasty twitter posts demanding a new grammatically incorrect, apostrophe mistake laden masterpiece.

So where have I been?

My employment world has been full of upheaval recently and as I fear getting Dooce'd I do not blog about work, but suffice it to say I used to manage a group of 17 great hardworking technically creative artist types. This was difficult for me in the beginning as it was my first management position. Just as I was getting a handle on it, just as I thought I was getting a handle on it AND doing a damn fine job, the world shifted and my team was redistributed in an organizational shuffle.

To steal a quote from the Dark Tower "The world moved on." And you know what, I am beginning to like it. Not the change in my job specifically but the world around me. My beautiful wife and my lovely kids (who by FSM, don't get me wrong can really put a twist in my kilt) are bringing me joy with some of the silliest things like this, this, this and this. Since my work world moved on I am focusing less on the stresses of work and more on the joys of my family. This weekend we had many and I wanted to share them here. If that wasn't the most winded and winding intro there is, well, at least it will give Susanne a chance to knock me for my grammar and apostrophe usage.

This weekend was Mothers Day and by golly, if Susanne didn't put me to work in the garden. We went to breakfast first where we both were stunned to see our 5 year old drinking his cuppa (hot cocoa) and reading the paper (kids menu).

Seriously. How friggin old does he look here?

And my beautiful wife enjoying some time with Braedyn.

And only days before my oldest boy Jacob came to visit. Of course when he comes over Dad is chopped liver, but it is so nice to see all of them so happy.

So what was this post about? It doesn't matter. Today's post wasn't for you dear readers. It was for me and I sure enjoyed it. Almost as much as Braedyn enjoyed the whip cream from the cocoa.

Free Stuff ROCKS

2009-05-11T13:09:00.001-07:00

It’s no secret that half of my house is decorated by items I picked up at garage sales. I love the thrill of the hunt, and even more, I love to not pay retail. I just don’t get how, wait… I just don’t get WHY anyone would want to pay $500 for a wallet from Coach. It is beyond me. I probably get a little bit of this from my upbringing; I mean I have a father who never bought anything new. Ever. (He also never gets rid of anything, but that is a post in and of itself.) When I was growing up, if we had a refrigerator that was going kaput, my dad would get another used one, usually free from some place or another, and use it until it went kaput. Our second-hand TV would sometimes go fuzzy, but no worries, I was taught where to hit it with a hammer to get it working again.

Thankfully I’m not THAT bad. Really, I’m not.

A couple of weekends ago I hit the mother load of garage sales. It was just around the corner, and I literally had to make two trips with my car filled to the brim back to the house with all of my new loot. I got so much great stuff, my head was spinning. I picked up six beautiful, lined curtains for my front room that couldn’t have been more perfect for the colors of our walls. I got three ceramic, blue outdoor flower pots, new kids craft materials, an amazing wall clock with exposed gears, three nicely crafted shelves, two dog beds, several decorative wall hangings, and many more things that I don’t want to bore you with if I haven’t already. And the ticket price for all of this? $18.50. Seriously. It was so great that a little later when I was out with the whole family, we drove back by. Greg and the kids got out and started poking around, and the folks having the garage sale started handing us stuff to take for free, including two kid dirt bike helmets. And here, you can see how those are used at our house:

Yeah, digging in the dirt for ants has to be much better wearing that helmet. Free stuff rocks.

Dressing Herself

2009-05-07T07:40:00.001-07:00

Emily picked all of her accessories, and she had fun putting each of them on.

Interlude

2009-05-03T14:23:00.001-07:00

I begrudgingly took Creative Writing in High School, believing it was going to be a complete nightmare for me. I was a math nerd, after all. After one semester of this class, my teacher insisted that I would only last a year in college under the Aerospace Engineering degree I was pursuing. I dismissed this notion as any good self-professed left brainer would as something completely ridiculous.

Yeah. She was right. I changed my major after a year and ultimately ended up with a degree in Art. I came across this piece while painfully going through my childhood box of papers. OK, it’s not a box. It’s a huge, daunting mega-bin. Sigh.

I thought I would share it with you.

***************************************************************************

The fuchsia sky with its scattered grayish-blue clouds made me homesick – homesick for what life was like. No one was exactly sure how much time we had left.

Through all of the confusion around us, Jay and I managed to get away for a few hours. We started the quiet little engine on the two-man motorboat. The rippling of the water broke the silence around us. The once calm waters of the lake now had little waves scattering everywhere, disrupting its tranquility, but giving us ours.

The sun was hardly visible through the overwhelmingly thick sky. It appeared so small now, almost as if part of its uncontrolled flaming fire were tamed.

When we reached the center of the lake, I turned off the engine, allowing the silence to envelop us. I wanted this moment to last forever. We were all alone; it was just us and our thoughts. His head flew back displacing his long, brown bangs from his oval-shaped face and revealing those eyes. I lost myself in those big, green eyes, desperately trying to find some answers as to why all of this had happened.

A thin line of dark black land was visible across the lake. The sky was so vibrant and the waters reflected its grim color. Not only was there a gray shadow of our boat behind us, but a gray shadow of our present lives lurked there too. I was thinking about it, and I’m sure Jay was too, but we never let down our guard. Instead, we just lay in each other’s arms, thankful for this last moment.

***************************************************************************

Written November 1988