it ain't easy being impressionable....

We survived a family vacation. I have tons of great stories that I will relate over the next few days, but right now I have something I have to get off my chest. Or something like that- but you will see in a minute. (I wrote this late last night BTW)

We set up the tree tonight. Actually, I did it last night- the decorating took place this evening after dinner. It was filled with the usual assortment of mishaps and accidents, but one thing stands out. The new dog, Sheila, a Jack Russel Terrier, does not like the tree. She has made several high speed passes at it trying to bring it down. It now is supported by a pair of wires to the two walls of the corner it sits in. After it was moored in place, she took to sniffing and squatting. Since we are deep into the "try to train the dog" phase ( a phase that has never been successful in the past, and will probably pass soon) Mary was randomly yelling out "NO PEEING IN THE HOUSE". The dog knows what this means, and she knows it's meant for her. She would sulk out of the room and then reappear a few minutes later. She never did pee in the house near the tree (.....near the tree).

It is now real late, and I have a problem. At first I thought it might just be the 'ole prostate feeling it's age and beginning that phase of my life. Slowly but surely I developed that uncomfortable full feeling. I wasn't sure exactly what was causing it- perhaps a virus or some sort of infection, but then I remembered the wife's admonishment. I want to report that I have been a good boy and have not peeed (sp?) in the house. I also am afraid I am going to burst and flood the house. At this point all I want to do is pee.

It looks like I will have to venture out into the yard. Wonder if Sheila wants to join me.

Who wants to decide that kind of stuff?

My mother in law is in a really bad way. She has had several strokes, and she has been in the hospital for 3+ weeks. My poor wife is beside herself dealing with this, and then she has to deal with us. What a woman. I should be so strong.

Her mom has been moved to a nursing home. She has left strict instructions not to try any heroic measures to save her, as she cannot stand being the way she is now. She was a Marine wife to a lifer- an RSM . She is used to being independant, and her current state is anything but. So my wife has to make decisions like should she have a transfusion, or should they tube her to help her breathing. Who wants to have to make those decisions? It's one thing to say no life saving measures, and totally another to look at your mom in a hospital bed suffocating, and have to say no, she wouldn't want a tube.

She goes up and down. This weekend was down, and today was more of down.

I think when my time comes I will crawl out into the forest, just to save my kids from having to watch and make those kinds of choices about me.

Good Dog, Bad Dog

We picked up a new dog on Sunday. Actually, the family did- I went to the Raider-Steeler game with my man Darryl. It was a birthday present from my beautiful wife (the tickets, not Sheila). That's the dog's name. Sheila. She is an 8 month old Jack Russell Terrier. Cute as a button, and a total spaz. She will fit in here perfectly. Or not. She likes to chew. She slept with Connor, and since he conked out early, she decided to chew. We have a lot of military tradition in our family. I even tried it myself. ROTC. Two years. But when I changed majors I was told the Army has no use for the skills I would learn. Art. Not biggie- my two week camp experience was less than satisfying- I don't do mornings, or at least I didn't in college- so I dropped out before I signed on the dotted line. I always wonder what life would have been like if I had, but that is for another time. Anyway, my Father in law was Marine. RSM, 5 1. HARD core with a capital HARD. But a great man. He had some of the most harrowing stories about Vietnam. He served 5 tours there. The army had a policy of one tour each, but the Marines send you where they want, when they want, however many times as they want. And Hank was up for it. I respected the man a hell of a lot. I even cut my hair short when I started dating his daughter. Always respect the father. Boys- learn that one early. No one can cut you off better than daddy. What was I talking about? oh yea. Connor has a little bear called Marine Bear (talk about a lead in!) . He is in dress blues and tennis shoes. Connor LOVES Marine Bear. Sheila likes him too. She ate him. She is going to be in big trouble, because hell hath no fury like a raging 5 yr old. I, for my part, will do anything to make the little guy happy, so I will probably buy him a car or something. My mom will attempt to rebuild him. Bionic Marine Bear. NaNaNaNaNaNa. Steve Austin, look out.

My Father's Flag

I received a flag from the VA this week for my father, who passed away in March. Up to this point I had not shed a tear at his passing. I guess I am one of the fortunate ones, but his passing did not leave any unresolved issues between us. I was the wild one in the family, but I got straight with him before he passed. When I opened the box, reality set in. I had myself a good cry. I took out his papers and looked at his service record. He served in the Pacific in WWII. The names of the places read like a history lesson. He was a private; an infantryman. He was one of the kids who, when the landing craft hit the shore, would charge out onto the beach. I never really connected the calm quiet man who I knew with the guys you see in the movie out now. But that was him. He rarely talked about his wartime experience, but he was there on that island and from what I have heard it was much like it is portrayed in the movie. I cannot fathom what it must have been like. He described times where everyone around him was killed- he still remembered their names. No wonder he was so calm and focused in the face of all the adversity he experienced while I was growing up.

We all owe those men all that we have. Everything. There isn't much more that can be said.

The wife left me....

No, not like that, but for an emergency at home. Her mother had a stroke, and so she booked a flight and left. It was all sudden like, and I don't think she really understood what she was doing. Anyway, she has departed, and I am in charge. Sort of a "fox guarding the chickens" kind of situation. More like "W in charge" if you ask her. Yesterday about 7 I remembered that they hadn't eaten dinner. I piled 'em into the Suburban and off we went in search of food. We ended up at Walmart. Don't even ask how that came about. Ours is a SuperWalmart, so they have food. I figured we would get some stuff and bring it home to eat. They talked me into a bag of what could only be described as "Crap". The whole assortment had little in the way of nutritional value. Probably, if you ate the paper and cardboard, you would get some fiber. We brought it home and ate it in front of the TV. Then they ran around the house like maniacs, and then they pretty much passed out and I put them in bed. I didn't have this in mind when we were shopping, but it turned out to be a pretty good strategy. Dinner is once again looming on the horizon, and again, I have no plan.

Ouch!

I have been building an addition onto the house for....a while now. I have, until yesterday, been injury free. I'm talking about the self inflicted kind. I have a habit of doing bad things to myself, and I have impressed myself with my restraint. Up until last night, that is. I had to put some A35s on the rafters to connect to the ridge beam. They weren't on the drawings, and I have a BIG beam that the ridge beam sits on, and the rafters have birds mouth cuts to follow the profile, but the inspector said to put em in, and he wrote it down, so I had to do it. I waited till it was dusk, and I waited for a hot day, and I waited till the night before the inspection. All big warning signals. It was hot, and dark, and I was sweaty, and I was in a hurry. Oh, and I was perched on the top of a 6ft ladder in a room with an 11.5 foot cathedral ceiling. Smart. I should have my own TV show. Probably cable. One with lots of liability insurance.

I am left handed, so it gets to wield the hammer. It is a strong, agressive hand, and it likes the sound of nails being driven into wood. The right hand is the crazy cousin. For some reason, it always takes a beating. I was swinging the hammer with the left, while the right did that timing thing to hold the hold down in place just until the hammer got there and then let go quickly and scurry to safety. Well, the index finger has been at this for a long time, and knows damn well when to get the hell out, but the middle finger, the defiant one (think hand signals), always takes his time, daring the left hand to do his worst. He did. Bastard. He smacked it on the side so hard it split open, right along the stitch line from when I shattered it while water skiing. (see- accident prone...). It literally split open in a sickening splat sound. I cursed, and of course, the kids heard. And the bolder one acually started calling out the word. "Dad said ****" I had to say it again because it hurt so much. So did the great red bold one.

I made a huge effort not to bleed all over the place, and at the same time not fall off the ladder. That would have been great. I fall, die, and then bleed out through my finger. I can almost see the chalk outline on the plywood, with a big red stain at the finger. Hmm. That might make a great picture. And a great gag. Imagine, twenty years from now, the new owner (assuming the boys don't burn the house down) takes up the flooring to put down carpet and finds that. "WTF! That wasn't in the disclosures......" But that would pique the interest of the inspector, and we want him out of here as soon as possible, becuase the more time he spends here, the more likely he will notice some of the "creative" solutions in play.

BTW I failed the inspection this morning. I did everything that was listed on the notes sheet from the last failure, but this was a different inspector, and he noticed something the other guy didn't. I can live with it, but I want to get this project done with so I can move on to other projects. But first, I have to have a long talk with my hands. Stop hitting each other. Sit still.
Don't break things. Sort of the same things I am always saying to the boys. If you don't hear from me for a while, I was observed having said conversation sans another human being, and have been placed on psych watch. I think it's 72 hours now. Might be a nice to have some alone time, come to think of it.

Remember, in any construction project, you only need one yes. I just hope it doesn't take a thousand nos to get there..... There's a parallel. Construction and dating.

Zen Mom

I took one of those on line surveys this morning after I dropped the little darlings off at school. It turns out I am a "Zen Mom". Whatever. I live here, and I am pretty sure there is little in the way of "Zen" going on here....unless you count "Zending them to their rooms". There were some interesting questions with interesting response choices... What do you do to unwind? One of the choices was " Shopping Spree/Retail Therapy". I guess that shopping is a form of therapy. Hey, the clerk has to listen to you while you are paying, right. Beats tradional therapy by a mile I guess. Sure, there are people who spend countless dollars and countless hours paying someone professional to listen to their problems. In my experience, those folks never get better, they just get poorer, and become dependent on their "therapist". My therapist is at the local cigar shop. He listens to me recount the horrors of my life while I support the hardworking folks in Central America who hand craft the products I sacrifice in small ritual fires. It is cheaper, it feels better, and the smoke keeps the truly annoying away. What more could I ask for? I golf occasionally ( I shot a 143 last outing with my buddy Chris, who did a whole lot of the framing work on the addition while I got bandaids for my various self inflicted injuries), but that takes a lot of time, and time is something in short supply in my life. Besides, in reality, golf is a drug-it has been described as "Crack" for the upper middle class. It's not a sport- it's an activity. Anything that you can do AND smoke and drink while riding in a cart is not a sport. And don't tell me that it is because you are sore the next day. The golf swing is a modified stretching exercise used as preperation for real sports. I am not big on it, but I do get a kick out of playing. It's always a surprise to look up and see where the ball went. For sport I practice Haganah ( Krav Maga, Hisardut, and Gracie style Jui Jitsu) because it feels good to beat up on a sparring partner; and the Catholic in me is very accepting of the punishment that gets inflicted on me.....

Back to the Zen mom thing....Joe had to sleep in our bed last night, because his brother, who he is currently bunking with because his room is not yet finished, has a cold. While cleaning up the mess that follows him everywhere, I found his pants. The pants Mary set out for him. I didn't check to see if he had pants on when I dropped him off- I know, I know, by now I should check everything all the time- because, well, I just assumed he had them on. It's a basic thing, right? Anyway, I am trying to decide if I want to call the school and have them check, or just let it go. If he doesn't have them on, then I am pretty sure the school will call, because he also has a habit of going commando.....see my dilemma? I haven't checked the student handbook, but I am pretty sure that undies are a requirement. They have a thick enough file on us already. I think I'll just do the Zen thing and let it go.

Bowling

They opened a new bowling alley less than a mile from our house. It is not the bowling alley of my youth- this place is PIMP! The lanes are all automated, the scores computed for you, and they even have your ball speed up on the screen for all to see. What more could you ask for? Big screen TVs with sports? Check. Real good sports bar and restaurant? Check. Video arcade- and not one of those cheap closet sized ones, but a real one filled with the latest games? Check. No hot waitresses, though....mostly older, sweaty ex-professional bowler types.

What could be better family fun than to go to the bowling alley? It was one of those “hey, that sounds like a good idea!” moments that, in retrospect, wasn't. Funny, my life is full of those. As it turns out I still suck at bowling. The first game, we all lost to the 5 yr. old. Pretty sad. He was the only one to break 100. Even with his odd style of throwing the ball from over his head (hardwood does indeed dent....), and his incredible ball speed ( less than 4 mph on average), he still cleaned up. He had no clue what he was doing, and no plan for what he would do when it was his turn, and yet, he triumphed. Zen bowling. The boys and I were preoccupied with ball speed. A 20 mph gutterball, while awesome, is NOT better than a strike. One child, who shall remain nameless, actually bowled a strike after falling backwards and landing on his back a ways down the lane, releasing the ball on the backswing (he was, thank god, facing the wrong way at the time). He never saw the shot- and had a melt down even after being told he got a strike, because in baseball, strikes are bad. I promised him I would contact the governing body of bowling and see about a name change for that.....must add that to my to do list.

Anyway, we went on to play two more games- I won one, and Pat won one. The wife sent half her balls in the gutter. I know, there's a great joke in that, but I am not going to go there with a ten foot pole. I am in enough trouble as it is.

“Learnings”

Have the side rails up for the wife.
Keep an eye on the little guy so he doesn't crush his head with the ball.
Make sure the little guy bowls down our lane....
More pizza, more root beer (less beer beer for the little woman).
Nail file for the daughter.
Some sort of guard for the ball return hole so the redhead does not crush his skull clowning around waiting for his ball to pop up by stuffing his head down the hole and pulling it out just before the ball gets there ( "it's OK dad- I can hear it, really! I'm not stupid!").

The countdown game...

Anyone watch "Lost"? You know the countdown game, where they have to enter a number at a certain time, or the world might end? My wife and I play that game. Every day. Every 6 hours, to be exact. Joe needs a set of medications every six hours. He has to have them every six hours because the effectiveness of the medications wears off. Once that happens, the degeneration of his cells starts to accelerate. The meds don't stop the process, but they really hamper it. It's an odd biochemical explanation that I don't care to spew, but it works and so we do it. But the catch is that he needs it every six hours. My wife and I take turns, and on the 6 and the 12, day and night, we medicate him. This has been going on for 4 years now. It's both routine for us, and a maddening ticking time bomb. Like the Lost folks, we won't see any immediate effects, but on the other end of his life, time will be cut away. Time that he won't get back; time we have no count of, and no way to measure, but time none the less. We both absolutely panic when we get close to the time, because given the just in time nature of the medical response to most urgent issues, we want to give him as much slack as possible. Looking at it another way, we want to prolong his life as much as possible, even though we don't know when that is. So I have a real good idea where I will be at midnight. If it's my turn I will be kneeling by his bedside with a cup of water and some nasty smelling pills. If not then I will be sleeping, because if I get to sleep early, then I am responsible for the 6AM meds. Noon and dinner seem to get done without much fanfare. I can count on my hand the times we have missed the mark- not bad for a guy who sometimes puts the trash out on Tuesday for the Thursday AM pickup, huh.

High School Football

I served as chaperone for my daughter and her friends as they attended our local high school football team home game. This means I drove them, attended the game, but did not hang with them (except in the food line, where my presence was tolerated because I have money). I don't mind at all. I love football. I can watch any game, any time. It was a nice feeling to sit in the stands full of kids and know that I had no responsibilities except to not be in the same place as them at the same time. I saw a lot of friends from town, and I got to take in a real good game. Our team won, and it was a convincing win. The kind where the kids who usually don't get to play got to play, even when they made mistakes. They still stayed in, because there was no danger of loosing. That's gotta feel good all around.

The daughter was fine. She didn't even watch the game that I could see. For her it was a big social. All her friends were there, and it was cool to see them all having fun and not getting into any trouble. I envy her this time in life. It is probably the most carefree time she will ever have. Her boyfriend is treating her well, she is doing well in school, she has good friends, and she doesn't have to work. OK, she has chores, but I don't see them getting done on a regular basis- so I don't count that.

When I dropped her off I took the time to enjoy a fine cigar in the parking lot. A lot different than High School when we had to sneak off for that, but times have changed- or rather, time has marched on. All in all it feels good to be alive. All for six bucks. Plus snacks.

A moving experience

The other night I was lying in bed with the wife, basking in the silence of all the children being in bed and asleep, when I farted. It was a strong, manly fart. I was impressed because the force of it made the sleep number bed tremble. My wife did not appreciate it, and let me know of her displeasure. I retorted that it was indeed a good one, and I had raised my hand, as is the custom in my house (Be proud! Take ownership of your work!). She feels we have been married a bit too long if this sort of thing is now acceptable in my mind. Now? When was it not acceptable? Oh, sure, when we first started dating I would make a token effort to mute them, but as any man knows, this always produces some sort of strained facial expression that always gets noticed, and then some long dramatic discussion ensues about my feelings, or her feelings, or some other crap. It's just better to let 'em fly. And raise your hand! Be proud of your work! My wife thinks I am a pig.

Tonite, sitting on the sofa watching TV, she let one go. And then, before she could think about it, she raised her hand. Talk about the influence of environment. She is one of us. Deep down inside, we are all pretty much the same.

Oink.

Family and the blog

My wife was reading this blog last night. She has “concerns” that people might be getting the wrong idea about our family. Let it be said that we are a real happy lot- we just have a greater than average incidence of “incidents”. I for one prefer it that way. What will the normal families talk about at the dinner table twenty years from now? “remember that time when you boys went with mom to pick up your sister at the gym, and you sat quietly in your seats while mom went in and got her from practice?” Dull dull dull. Our conversation would go “remember the time when you boys went with mom to pick up your sister at the gym and when mom went in to get her you boys worked together to start the van, put it in gear, drove across the parking lot and crashed into a car, doing $6000 worth of damage? And how you both scrambled back into your seats so when mom got to the van and opened the door you could pretend to have no clue?” Much better. I can't wait for the boys to bring girls over for dinner- imagine how that will go....”right where you are sitting, in that very chair, my son, your charming boyfriend, set fire to the kitchen towel. He held it over his head, basking in the glow, right up to the point where he realized that he had a flaming towel over his head, and he had no plan for it”. The girl will probably coo and say “how cute!”. She will have no idea what she will be in for. And we won't tell her. We need to preserve the boy's marketability.

My daughter's boyfriend (we will call him X to protect his identity) actually enjoys coming over to our house. He is an only child, so the activity level of our house is new and exciting to him. He likes the family interaction. Little miss attitude is mortified. Poor girl. It will only get worse. Once the boys really grasp the impact their buffoonery has on her and her “relationships”, you can bet your a** they will crank it up. Yay for her.

Oh, and she wants more about her. What's with women? It's always about them. More press for the princess. A request she may soon regret. “I'll put the investigative reporting team right on it honey”.

That one won't be moving out within the normal timeframe

The big blond twin has found a new skill. He tends to practice it in the evening after everyone has showered and we are all enjoying quiet time watching TV before bed. Quiet time is a relative term for us; I mean quieter than what it usually is around here.

He gets down on all fours like a dog and swings his head back and forth, increasing in speed and intensity until he makes one final great heave, throwing his big round head off to the side and behind him with such force that he actually picks the rest of him off the ground and spins himself in place like some sort of mad dog chasing his tail. He always lands with a crash, because he throws himself with such exuberance that he is just a little bit out of control.

My great big blond Labrador lap kid. He will be lying on the floor at my feet when I am in a home for aged lunatic fathers. If only he could fetch.....

Banned from The Outback

Went to Outback restaurant to celebrate my birthday. Brought all the hooligans. We have a policy of going to eat before the crowds so that we have fewer people who can disapprove of whatever it is that will happen. This was one of those rare occasions when we didn't get our act together to get out early enough. I had that sinking feeling while I was driving to the restaurant, but we were already on the road...what was I supposed to do...

First, let me relate the positives. Connor chose vegetables over french fries (“Aussie Chips”...cheeky dipsticks...). It would be our one triumph of good parenting. Damn we were smug. OK. That's it for the positives.

Negatives....hmm, where to begin. They give everyone steak knives. REAL steak knives. Kids who like movies about castles and knights should not be given knives such as these. Use your imagination. Not a good parenting triumph. Ordering food. It is standard practice in our family for everyone to talk at the waitress at the same time. Raising your voice helps. Yelling really helps. Helps to get a second wait person (funny, it's always some big guy...) assigned to the table. Bread and butter. Bread was used by the ancients as a weapon to ward off evil and sometimes, evil twins. Times have not changed for us. As a table we tend to go through a LOT of bread. Around this time the busboy starts hanging around our table.

It has been said that I am the instigator of many of the events that occur around our family. I am simply trying to help in the development of my children's super powers. Who's to say that Pat's ability to flare his nostrils incredibly wide will not one day save the world (it's SO cool- I should take a picture of it and post it...I never get tired of seeing it. It's so damn funny). My daughter can throw both of her hips out of joint at the same time. She has used this skill to get out of class (...uh, Mr.XXXXX, I think I need to go to the office and see the nurse....) She says the boys are fascinated. THAT will be an uncomfortable explanation I'll have to make to her....probably just gonna let it slide. I have admonished her to only use her powers for good, but development takes time. Anyway, progress on the development of these powers (and others) always seems to get reviewed in restaurants. Did you know that some kids can stuff both their hands into their mouth at the same time, and still make milk come out the nose? Oh yes, it's true! It's worth it just to see the look on my wife's face. These powers do tend to make us look unusual. People fear those who are different; that's all I'm saying...

We managed to make it to the entree. After a while a quiet came over the table. It allowed us to hear a ruckus going on across the restaurant. Mary and I both looked at each other with that smug “ thank god that's not our children” look. A quick glance around the table showed three chairs empty. Chairs that should have had boys in them. Upon closer scrutiny, the voices from across the room had familiar elements. Like names. I, the model of discreetness, ran across the place just in time to see one twin plant a right cross on the other (they are taking lessons....). They were in the bar. Honey, get the camera! It's the boy's first bar fight! Lucky me. Most parents don't get to see this until their kids go off to college, but I, the raiser of two boys WAY outside the second standard deviation, get to see it shortly after their ninth birthday. And, as an added bonus, I got to break up their first bar fight. One for the scrap book. For the record, all the men in the bar looked at me with a level of respect and fear usually only reserved for prizefighters and nuns. “Now that guy knows how to raise boys!” Damn straight! They can come testify at my trial. Character witness for the defense.

We won't (can't) go back there.

Feeling just a bit twitchy

I had one of those odd muscle twitches last night- the kind that you can see the skin twitching but when you tense the muscle it goes away. My son was siting next to me and he noticed it first. It was distracting him from cartoons, so he asked me to stop. I tried to explain that I had no control over it, but he didn't like that answer. I did the flex thing for a while, but when I forgot about it it started again. I have a stressfull life and sometimes it (stress) comes to the surface in odd ways. Anyway, it started up again, and since my attempts at controlling it were for naught, he decided to take matters into his own hands. We have a rule: the remote is not to be used as a weapon. He got up, went into the kitchen, and got a flyswatter. He sat down next to me, and a few minutes later, WHACK! WHACK! Not pleasant. I gave a yell and then turned to him and demanded to know what the deal was. He informed me that he was helping me to control the twitch by smacking me, thereby making the muscle tense. That way it wouldn't distract him from what obviously is a significant point in the development of the Plankton character on Sponge Bob. Then, umbelievably, he smacked me in the head with the swatter. I yelped and demanded an explanation.

He informed me that the muscles in my forehead were twitching, and he just wanted to helpme by helping get rid of the twitch.

That won't happen until he moves away to college. Till then, just call me "twitchy"

How lucky we are...

To live here in America. Think about it. We can't fathom the fear that pervades the rest of the world regarding security and economic opportunity. Yes, there are places even here where there is economic despair, but we also have the opportunity to take action and change our situation if we have the will. What brought this on? I had occasion to take my son to yet another doctor visit (thanks to the Open Work Practice that Sun provides for their employees). I met a nurse who left Russia to come here with NOTHING. Didn't care that there was no job or family waiting for her here. She KNEW that when she got here she could work hard and become successful. She arrived with no English skills and availed herself of public education to learn the language, get nursing training, and get ahead. She started from the bottom. Only had a desire. Try that anywhere else!

You never hear about anyone moving elsewhere for the opportunities- not if they are the downtrodden of their culture. This woman was an illiterate unemployed youth in what she described as a desolate suburb of Moscow. If she can do it, then anyone can.

And the health care....it gives me shivers to think of the situation she described. We have it so good, and yet we complain. Snap out of it. I can live with a little extra work time, a little extra cost for my health care, a little extra inconvenience for my life, if it means my kids get access to the same opportunity she did. And my kids have far fewer disadvantages than she did- they speak the language, they "know the system", they have an economic position that puts them in position to get ahead easier. God help them if they complain. I'll ship 'em off to Moscow for the winter; see how they like their life here after that.

It was a treat for her to work with my son- her words. He has a disease that wouldn't even have been diagnosed in Russia. I know, the organizations I am a part of work in other countries to raise awareness about these kids and his disease. She was amazed that he was in such good health (relatively...) given his condition, and how much help we were able to get from KAISER for him. YES, KAISER. My son has one of the rarest diseases you have never heard of- Cystinosis- and KAISER is all over it. They have gotten him into studies at the NIH, Stanford, UCSD, and other private organizations. Yes, you have to be vocal and work (with) the system, but I have nothing but praise and accolades for the doctors and scientists who work with Joe, and the KAISER system on the whole.

Don't complain to dad that we don't have the 180 channel satellite package; Daddy's not in the mood!

Ice Skating

I know I said I was going to talk about the fourth. I will, but this was pretty good also.

The twins wanted to have an ice skating party for their 9th birthday. Hey, I'm game. They do all the work (the rink, not the boys) - feed the kids, give them punch, do the cake, and even write down the names for who gave what for the cards. That part the boys don't like. I am making them write thank you cards to everyone- not just thanks, but a personal note. Told them it was to keep their writing skills up over the summer. Pat did the Quasimodo "hunch over, drag the foot and act like an idiot" thing to emphasize that those skills had already gone by the wayside. Not fooling me.

Anyway, out onto the ice. All sorts of funny things. 13 yr old girl trying to look all abercrombie while trying to skate ends up pulling her best friend down as well as herself. Got a great video of her crashing into the glass and disappearing with that oh so shocked look on her face. Mental note- show it to the boyfriend. She (they) also played a pair of google eyed boys into buying them sodas and snacks. Show THAT to the boyfriend.

Back to the boys. They just had a ball. Pat took to the ice easily after a pair of flops, and Joe is such an incredibly limber monkey that he was able to execute incredible maneuvers without dumping. Some on tape, some not. The little guy was just having a blast, but never got the glide part- kept on taking those little tiny steps in rapid succession, all the while flailing his arms and laughing. Pretty darn cute.

They both got to ride the zamboni. Pat just dug it- smiling the whole while. Joe was persistent about DRIVING the thing. Every time it would go by I could hear the operator explaining to Joe how their insurance prohibited it, or how he couldn't reach the controls, or my personal favorite "for the last time, NO!".

Joe will end up as a salesman or a politician. He has never taken no for an answer, and he just never stops talking, even when he has nothing to say. Ever.

All in all a great time, made even better by the fact that we were indoors in a chilled environment when it was 108 outside. Cool.

VACATION!

I took everyone on vacation to Lake Tahoe for a week. We have a timeshare at the Hyatt High Sierra Lodge in Incline Village. God I love that place. Anyhow, the best part of the trip was a total lack of planned events. We did nothing for a week. No, wait, I lied. We did have a stable time for one day when we went horseback riding. Other than that, nothing. It was an amazing series of lazy days. I bought two two man kayaks to tool around the lake. That is the best thing ever to keep boys occupied. Well worth the cost. The trip stands out because there were no significant incidents. Everyone was well behaved. I don't get that very often.

Now the fourth of July, that's a different story.

Talk about ruining the moment....

I had one of those great parent moments yesterday. It didn't last long, but man it was great.

It has been HOT lately, and yeaterday it was 108. I did what any sane guy does in that kind of heat- crank the AC and lie down and take a nap. My middle boy, who *sometimes* has a great deal of sense, decided to take a nap also. It was one of those lazy, lie down and snuggle with dad kind of moments. The little guy snuggled into my side, and I flopped my hand on his face. I was reminicing about when he was a baby and I would glide my fingers over his face and marvel at his rapt attention and delight, only at this age he tends to push my hand away. Not today- he guided my fingers across his nose and cheeks and over his forhead, and then poked and prodded my fingers with his. I was thinking how I was going to miss these times with him as he grows up, and I drew my hand from his and held it in front of my face. There, on the tip of my fingers, were little reminders of who he is- little bits of his childhood that will always remind me of him.

Boogers.

One proud dad!

I am so proud of my daughter this weekend! She is 13, and was going to sleep over at a friend's house with a bunch of other girls- typical slumber party. She has done this many times, and we have hosted them many times. I am the only dad who will pile the girls into the 'burban to go TPing at 1 in the morning, so I figured they would need another ride for this sleepover. I know it's a marginal call, but they will do it with or without a ride, and I don't feel comfortable having the girls out running around at 1AM without an adult, so I drive them. At least that's my story if the police catch us.... Anyway, she backed out of the party. Turns out the parents were going to be gone, and the 18 year old brother of the host girl would be in charge. I am amazed that she backed out on her own. My wife is equally amazed. It would appear that we are actually doing a good job of parenting. Or she is just more level headed than I at her age. I think both are true, now that I think about it.

I will take the win, and give all the props to my wife. I, as you may have already deduced, was/am a bit lacking in the self control category, and in my youth I would have jumped on the opportunity in a heartbeat. I have related a lot of my experience to my daughter, and she is at times impressed, horrified, and amused. Better she hear it from me than from one of my friends, or, god forbid, she experience the bad things in life for herself.

On the other hand, she has changed her college plans. She now wants to go to a party school. Even asked where she might find a ranking of those schools. I KNOW how that story goes....

And now, time for the US to play in the World Cup!

Suicide by drowning

I have alergies. I have had several people tell me that they have had great success and relief from "sinus irrigation" kits. I am always looking for some edge over post nasal drip, so when I was at the pharmacy picking up medicines, I grabbed a kit.

I am a man. I know how to do things without directions.

See where this is going?

I cooked up a batch of the solution, filled the bottle, and went to lie down on the bed to irrigate my sinuses. Being aware of how much water was involved, I grabbed a big towel. No fool am I.

I lied down, placed the towel behind my head (planning!) and inserted the nozzle into my nose, being carefull to form a seal with the nostril. I gave it a gentle squeeze. Nothing. The tube in the bottle extends all the way to the bottom, or in my case, the top when it was inverted, so I deduced that more force was needed. I lied back down, and this time gave it a good, strong, long squeeze. I pumped what seemed like the total contents of my pool into my nose, through my sinuses, down the back of my throat, and into my lungs. Good thing I made that seal tightly, otherwise it would have shot out both nostrils, instead of just the open one (it's true; they are indeed connected inside my head somewhere...).

In my panic, instead of easing up when I started DROWNING, I acually squeezed HARDER! Seemed like a good idea, or panic reflex, or whatever....fight or flight thing. I choked and gagged and coughed up the solution, and when I could see again ( note- self drowning causes your eyes to water and your vision to go blurry- or perhaps it was an ocular reaction to all the snot in my eyes- I'm still not sure) I read the directions. In bold- BOLD- they cautioned strongly against most of the things I had done. It turns out I was supposed to hover over the sink in a sort of "I think I'm gonna hurl" position, and slowly run it through my nose until it runs out the other nostril. I did instinctively know that a good seal in the nostril was needed. I got that right- some sort of genetic coding probably.

I can't help but think how much money I would win on America's Funniest Home Videos if I had taped it.

Vacation starts tomorrow....

It is with a tingle of excitement and a nagging fear of the unknown that I close the day today. Tomorrow, all the kids will be home for the summer. I work from home. This period of time is always... uneasy. What will the boys do? Free time and 4th grade boys are the major cause of increased homeowner's insurance premiums (made up factoid, but at first pass you believed it was possible, huh). My boys like fire...and projectiles...and animals...and chaos. Preferably all at once. Wrap your mind around what that might look like. Not a pretty picture, huh! Welcome to my life. What about the daughter? Well, one thing is for sure- she will not be causing any problems in the morning- she will be sleeping 'till noon. All occupants of "her house" (HERS! HA! Climb under the mortgage, sweetie!) have been instructed to leave her alone until noon. Sadly, she chose to tempt fate by emphasizing that point with the boys. What devious little brother-big sister torments are flailing in their little minds? Stay tuned. The littlest one, who does not like to get up for preschool, will now begin rising at 5 to plant himself in front of the TV and rot his brains with cartoons.

At least he is quiet.

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.

I don't know...

I don't know much about anything, but knowledge does not seem to be the driver of content on the web, so I should do fine. Opinions matter. It seems that few people have them, or perhaps do but are unwilling to share. "don't make waves". Non moi. Hmm...I have this sudden urge to surrender. OK. No more french jokes.
I am a prototype for the white male. I am middle aged, but not a boomer or an Xer, I am married (happily, so that may put me out on the nose of the curve), have FOUR kids (great source of stories, and an endless pit into which I shovel money), and have a job in corporate america.
That said, I am NOT a prototype for the white male. I went to Art school (I am an Industrial Designer), I go to church, but have a distinct distain for the "moral" majority, christian right (both are neither, BTW), spend less than I earn, save for college for my kids, expect them to earn, not receive, volunteer a lot (Soccer coach, baseball coach, cub scout leader, umpire, etc.), and try to do rather than say.
I don't have anything in particluar to say right now, because I am itchy and need to shower.

Later.