Briggs & Stratton

Thank you lawn mower guys! I am SO grateful for the previously annoying safety features you have integrated into my lawn mower. I have to say so here, because my wife would have a FIT if she ever found out (and I would have to push a hand mower. I dig old school, but there are some things that are better now than they were then). My charming boys made another attempt to get the motor off the mower and onto the go cart. As usual they had separate agendas. One was more interested in disassembly, while the other was focused on functionality. Translation: One little genius had the mower tipped on it's side and was trying to get the motor off, while the other attempted to start it by pulling the starter cord. I am mortified at the thought of what could have transpired, and I am horrified that for me, this is the best it will be on this front- they will only get more sinister and inventive, which will translate into more hazards to themselves and others.

Take me now lord. And bring my mower.

Like Fire?

That should be a test. Ask a guy "so, you like fire?" If he says no, then never trust a thing he says from then on. He's lying. Every guy likes fire-even if there is something horrible about it is his past- the facination persists. From the first time we see a fire engine, it's like "wow". Fire is the thing that brings guys together. Got a group of guys that can't get along? Best teambuilding exercise in the world. Go off into the wild, gather stuff up, and set it on fire. Those guys will be bonded for life. No kidding. It's like "WE rule! Yeah..huh?...ah, all that stuff we burned right there..." It's almost primeval. Men subconsciously associate fire with survival, domination, success, achievement, triumph, and a bunch of other stuff. Sharing it brings us closer. My sons and I, whenever we get to that point where we all are wierded out about family stuff, or the boys have done one of their spectacular stunts, or they have done something outstanding (the stunts I referenced are not "good things"- they involve property damage, uniformed public officials, and me apologizing and/or writing checks) we all instinctively know that we need fire. The wood pile will be scrounged through and the fire pit will be filled, and the BBQ lighter fluid can will come out and presto! Fire! Just make sure no one looses an eyebrow during the "napalm attacks" ( ...big blast of lighter fluid on an open fire- squeeze real hard. It's awesome!)

We sit and stare at it, we poke it, we toss things into it to watch them burn, and then, when the fire is dying down, all my little monkeys will climb into the lap of papa gorilla, and we sit there together in silence. That's the sound of true bonding. Silence. So calm and peaceful, with the only movement little flickers of flame; I can almost see their little heartbeats. I wouldn't trade that time for anything. Ever. There is an awesome power in silence. Too bad women don't get that- they just can't seem to shut up long enough to really feel the silence.

Fire. Silence. All that's missing is pizza and you'd be in heaven.

Putting the dog down

My dog, Hoover (after the vacuum, not the President) has reached his end. Poor guy. He has a litany of diseases, ailments and maladies that make him absolutely miserable. He has tumors that have gone malignant, he has Cushings Disease, he has Hypothyroid disease, he has gone blind, he is deaf, and he is absolutely miserable. On the one hand, I don't want him to leave us- he has been with us since we got him from an abusive home 10 years ago. He has welcomed three babies into the family, been there to comfort us when we put his partner Pepper to sleep, and he has kept the floor in the kitchen spotless- no mean task with four kids in the house. But seeing him frozen in the middle of the room, not sure where he is, blind and deaf, whimpering and yearning for something that he is familiar with to get his bearings, I am sure it is the right thing to do. We could give him drugs to stave off the pressing medical problems, but it would only prolong an agonizing life so that I don't have a guilty conscience about killing him (that's what it is, let's be real). It took a while to get over whacking Pepper, and Hoover has been my buddy, so this is gonna hurt. But it's the humane thing to do. I'm gonna miss him. He was supposed to be a short haired miniature doxie. He turned out to be a standard longhair.

Tonight he will sleep on my pillow; tomorrow night also. Wednesday morning I will say goodbye.

I'll hold him as he goes, because I want him to not be confused and scared, and the only time he doesn't shiver is when he is up against my wife or I. And she doesn't want to do it- she can't.
This task falls to me.

Obstinate &%#! Child!

One of the kids, who shall remain nameless, has been giving us difficulty over things like homework and reading. He's in the 3rd grade, so this shouldn't be a problem yet, but it is. He comes home with lots of assignments, and so when we asked the teacher what the deal was she told us his load would be lighter if he would just do his work in class. It turns out he just wiles the time away staring into space enjoying the show in his head (he once described it as "Video in my head"- not TV-Video. In my day we called it "spacing out"). We, of course, then get to play bad guy and make him do his work. Anyway, back to the story. So we have this big blowup with him- "you're gonna be the BIGGEST 3rd grader next year if you fail and get held back!"; at least, that was the gist of it- there was more yelling. All I can think of is that's how I was and I turned out fine, so I said just that. The look from the wife was withering. I felt just like my son. Only worse. She calmly said ( a little too calmly if you know what I mean...) "You're not as well as you think". Sure, I have issues- focus, attention, a preoccupation with certain things, and so on, but overall I'm pretty damn well.

Anyway. We set up a big powow with the teachers. Turns out they just got the scores back from the latest round of testing. He scored 100% on the math part. Perfect. Didn't miss a thing. They were aghast. So were we. He, for his part, was looking pretty darn smug. He didn't do as well on the language arts part. But the parts he did do were perfect. Again, didn't miss anything. "good show came on" was his explanation. I assume he meant in his head.
Then he does a beautiful report on Spider Monkeys. Awesome. I swore he would fail that because he left his notes at home. I had them in my hand, and his report had the exact same info, and then some. I thought he was spacing out while we were surfing the web for info, but he knew it all. Even some things I didn't remember at first. Friggin' kid's a genius. Just a bit relaxed, and addicted to his daydreams.

This does not bode well for my retirement. Here is what is in my future: He will get into a great university. One that is really expensive, and probably a top 10 party school as well. He will go there off and on for 7 to 10 years, change majors 3 or four times, and then move home to begin his life. I will pay and pay. And pay.

This scenario, it turns out, is similar to my own history. Only I have 3, perhaps four of these in play. Tomorrow I'll entertain you with my daughter's plans for higher education.

Like they say in prison- Payback is a b***h.

Big Love?

Is it just me, or is the husband on the HBO show "Big Love" totally insane? I remember him as Chet from "weird Science", so I don't have much sympathy for him (I know, it's all make believe, but when a dick like Chet gets what's coming to him, even if it's pretend, I just get a warm fuzzy. Hey, I'm a child of the 80's- give me a break), but still. I mean really- three wives? What the hell is he thinking?! I can't imagine dealing with three of them. Trying to keep one happy is hard enough. I know Mormons are famous for keeping their wives under control, but it just seems to me that he is in over his head. Take up golf for crying out loud! It's only a matter of time before they figure out that they outnumber him, and then his goose is cooked. And why marry a woman who's father whacked your father? Talk about asking for trouble. Plus- he has to have like, 10 mothers-in-law. Death just can't come too soon for him. Sure, he pretends to be happy, but you know they gotta be wearing him down. You wouldn't catch me in that situation. No way. One is enough. MORE than enough.
All I wanted was a little action, and look where it got me.

400 BILLION?!

RRRR! I am all for Democracy, but the way we went about the current fiasco just pisses me off. What would we have thought if, instead of our founding fathers resisting the British, the French invaded and handed us their version of Democracy and then occupied us until we adopted it? There would still be French troops in Texas, for sure. We would have no Alamo story to rally around (regardless of the dubious historical truth to the story in the history books)- the French would have surrendered to the Mexicans. I think we took the wrong course- clearly Cheney & Co. wanted a war (yes, George Bush is not running the country- he's too special ed to actually do the job). They just didn't want to have to pay for it. What ever happened to financing the war with Iraqi oil profits? If we have to pay for it, then at least do it in an above board manner- don't be a pussy and hide it in bills titled "Troop Protection"

I am a Republican. I am a Conservative. I am also appalled at the lack of integrity and honesty in fools we have elected. I honestly thought that we were the party of fiscal restraint. We have racked up such an incredible deficit- and oh, BTW, the war is an off the books item in budget calculations- that I don't think we will ever get out from under it. "Borrow and Spend" has me longing for the days of "Tax and Spend".

What a way to start my Friday. It can only get better from here.

Why do I mow the lawn?

Why? I water it. I fertilize it when it doesn't grow- just to get it to grow. Then, when it grows well, I look at it and think to myself "I just mowed the stupid lawn, and look at it now! I have to mow again!". Who's idea was the lawn, anyway. (I know- many bloggers will put a link under something like that, but for me it's a rhetorical question. My wife wants a lawn. So I mow). And why do some people get so upset when you walk across their lawn? Geeezz! God put it on the ground for a reason- if he didn't want it to be walked on, it would be hanging from the sky, wouldn't it?

But then again, life is full of these kinds of situations, huh. I think we should start to refer to them as "mowing the lawn again". That should go over well in corporate America.

Now, all of you, back to your lawns.

Be careful what you buy at IKEA

I bought an alarm clock from IKEA the other day. Really cool- old school. Black with the two bells on top and hand wound. Exactly what I was looking for. It does have a drawback- it's loud. The wife didn't like it, which means I don't like it. Actually, I do like it, I just don't like being woken up so she can have someone to complain to about the clock keeping her up. So I passed it on to one of my sons. Pat is a solid sleeper, and he likes the look of it and the user involvement- winding. The thing is now tightly wound like the rest of the family. Moving on.

This morning, at 6:15, the alarm went off. Pat had set it to LOUD so he could hear it.

The thing goes off. BBBBBLLLLLAAAAANNNNNGGGGGG! Pat jumps up, groggy from sleep and disoriented, and promptly screams "FIRE!". Off he runs, down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door and into the neighborhood, all the while screaming "FIRE!". Thank god he had on his spiderman tightie whities. I feigned sleep because I didn't want to be the one to retrieve him, but after his twin took up the cry and headed toward the front door it was clear we were both going to have to give chase. I took off after one and the wife took off after the other. We calmed them down and steered them back to the house. Just as I crossed the lawn with Pat my wonderful automated sprinkler system came on. Picture a groggy, soaked, semi naked father and son doing a keystone cops routine trying to get out of the cold water. It just couldn't get any worse. But it did. As we all approached the entry our littlest one appears, eyes closed, bear in hand, hand on the door, screams "IT'S NOT A FIRE...IT'S THE LARM!", slams the door, throws the bolt, and marches back to bed. We on the outside watched him through the sound insulating double pane window next to the door. Perfect.

I sure got my $6.95 in entertainment value from that clock.

Commitment

This word applies to me a couple of ways. I made a commitment to blog daily when I started. But, of course, shit happens. My father died. I helped my mother fix the house up so she could sell. I am adding on to my house so she has a place to live with us ( a whole treatise could be written on commitment, or the lack thereof, of "contractors", but I digress...). I commit to my kids. I coach, I do homework ( sometimes it's just easier on everyone if I "help" a bit more than the situation requires...), I participate in the four little lives I have under my care. They will of course, be responsible for their own therapy bills, but again, another subject. I committed to my wife- again, whole different subject. I commit to my job. That is where I am today. I have been thinking about my job, and all the hats I wear, and who do I model because frankly, I am not feeling too successful. I was looking around racking my brain and the answer was in front of me the whole time. My boss. He has more on his plate than I do (well, maybe not- his kids are grown and out of the house...) but he gets it done. In an ironic twist of fate he and I are the same- INTJs. So, being the observer in this situation I have watched what he does and how he does it and I am going to model the intent behind his actions- plan, and execute to the plan. He puts time into scheduling meetings with folks, whereas I had a tendency to make surprise calls or send probing emails. I am changing that.

Thought for the day- Plan and then commit to executing the plan. Simple.