A little mini vacation for me....

I indulged myself a bit the last two days. I took two days off of work. We didn't go anywhere, the kids weren't off school, there was no event that required time off. I took time to relax while the kids were at school and the house was quiet. I got some things done that needed to be done- clean the pool filters, clean the spa, trim bushes and plants, dig post holes for a gate that needs to be moved by the addition, finish the hardwood floors, put down pads and rugs, etc. The kinds of things that don't take a long time, but are hard to get done when the kids are around and the family activities are making their time demands. It felt good. I was reminded of the great lazy days of early marriage where there was peace and quiet in the house, when I could go and do whatever I wanted.

OK buddy, snap out of it.

I don't mean to sound like I don't love my life as it is now. I live my life with intention. All that I have and all that I do are by choice. I have exactly what I want, and I am free to change things when I want; hence the little break for daddy. Even designers enjoy a lazy boy recliner.
Even chefs indulge in a big mac and fries.

It's all good.

And to top it off- Pat had a great game yesterday. Joe did well too, but Pat hit a double, scored two runs, and had a session as catcher (with the sun in his eyes from the sun setting right over the pitcher's head, no less) where only two pitches got by him. Even he was proud of himself, and he NEVER brags or hardly even mentions his performance. It was one of those times I will remember when I am old.

I was ripped off as a child.

I had this as my state of the art war toy:


My son has this:

No doubt about it- I got ripped off. I am probably going to need (more) therapy for this. I think that a nice bout of impulse spending should about do it. Hmm...what toys should I buy myself?

This reminds me of my train phase. This is ongoing, but I have not had space in the garage to get set up lately because of all the boxes of hardwood flooring and tile (see: Wife's “remodel” phase). I got jealous of Connor for his wooden train set, so I went on a binge. I have 8 locomotives, including a really cool fully equipped ARMY train set- complete with a red locomotive with the ARMY insignia (because it needs to be red so the enemy can see it better....(WTH?), tons of track, and enough power requirements to dim the house lights when everything is in motion.

God, it's great being a kid with a checking account!

So far overboard it made it back into the boat....

OK. I can sleep tonite. It's all ok now that “the Waltons” has been released on DVD. Who needed this? I have to admit the storylines were compelling (in a “little house on the prairie” sort of way), but really... I think there are more important things to get onto video..er...DVD.

One more thing....

Seem to have a flury of posts today. Snippets and pics that needed posting that I had not gotten around to. Anyway, one more thing.

RED SOX!

Did you see the game last night! Whoa BABY! Not one, not two, not THREE, but FOUR Dingers in a ROW! Eleven pitches, four hits, four runs! I was sort of watching the game, and when the b*****ds (excuse me, yankees) went ahead by three I figured it would be a good game, so I sat down at the top of the third to watch a good inning and see how the Sox would respond. Mannie came up to the plate with that wild look of his, and I thought he would smack it good. Boy was I right! Then another. Then ANOTHER! I was in hog heaven! The fourth was icing on the cake. I had the brains to back it up and Tivo it, and I am going to dump it to DVD and watch it over and over. And man, can Dice K bring the heat! I saw two dozen pitches from him in the mid 90's and at least one was 98 mph. And he had at least 6 pitches that i could see. He had a decent night against the best lineup he will face this year. Was he worth the money? Time will tell.

We can always sell him to New York.

Those are some STYLIN' shades!

I think the glasses they give out are some sort of Optometrist inside joke. The wife was diggin' these- it meant she could go outside in the light. The surgery was a success! She can see 20/40 now! "and the blind shall see".

"I see you left out the milk...."
"I see you left your dirty clothes on the floor...."
"I see you left the seat up....".

Yup. She's a visionary.

It takes a certain level of self confidence.....

This is Sheila, Hell Dog of Rocklin. She is clearly comfortable sleeping in this position. She is also confident that I will let her sleep in this position. Because I am not in bed. See, the wife loves animals, so she lets them sleep with her. This means they also sleep with me, because I will be damed if I will sleep anywhere else (and the wife would not dream of kicking the dog out of bed "it would be cruel- she is so helpless...") while some little rat takes all the covers.
The dog has tried this position while I am in the bed. It doesn't fly with me. I push her to the edge of the bed under the covers slowly, and then I eeeeaaaaasssseee her ever so gently over the edge and PLUNK! she hits the floor, where she belongs. She doesn't stay there though; she is a Jack Russell Terrier. She can jump over the fence in the yard, so jumping back into bed is no problem. She learns quickly, but she tests the limits all the time. Sounds familiar.

Anyway, while I am working, and the rest of the brood is off at school, she lies on the bed and sleeps. She snores. She also dreams. I know this because she will start barking and running in place ( really funny when she is in the position above). She always has a confused look on her face when she wakes up from a dream- I guess reality looks the same to her. Not to me.

In my dreams there are no dogs in my bed.

Pretty sad when you think about it.

Lucky me

It is an odd turn of events that cast me as the voice of reason in our household. He who thinks that starting the fire pit with huge fireballs by squirting blasts of lighter fluid onto the ebbing kindling is now the one that two combatants look to for some rational thought. I am, of course, referring to the wife and daughter.

Hell hath no fury like a fourteen year old adolescent who has had her cell phone privileges revoked. I pity the fool who prods the dragon in such a manner. Unless it's the mama dragon. Not that these two are dragons. Just women. Or, woman and “woman lite”. This whole round (think multi round prize fight) is about respect. The little woman wants respect (in the form of undergarments from Victoria's Secret). The other one (notice I did not say older, or bigger, or anything else) wants respect in the form of...well, respect. Why should the little one get Victoria's Secret when the wife gets granny pants from JCPenneys? Which pretty much means that I don't get Victoria's Secret....

But I digress.

This is going to be a long round. Having spent a fair amount of time sparring the last couple years, I can only relate that some three minute rounds can seem like an eternity. That, I think, is how this round is going to play out.

Yay for me.

Ellis Island!

My daughter is on an east coast trip with her school over the break. She is now on Ellis Island in New York. She has called us all excited and bubbly because she found one of Mary's relatives on the wall. Mary's mother had contributed to the memorial and one of the perks was to get your relative's name on the wall.

She is usually not a fan of history, or architecture, or anything not involving shopping or boys (she almost cried when she found out the Capitol Mall in DC did not have an Abercrombie- or any other stores at all). Imagine our excitement when we got the call, and her glee at this new look at history. The trip was expensive, and it is not a comfortable feeling to send your daughter off for 9 days, but I think in the long run she will be a much better person for having done it. She is exposed to history and culture in a way she never would in school. She has all her friends ( the trip has a good grade requirement, which means not a lot of boys go. Mostly girls), she has close supervision, and she has an itinerary that would not be possible with just our family. Plus, she is getting out into the world and seeing things while still being sheltered. Many kids just leap out into the world after high school and they succumb to all the distractions available- some good, some bad. Overall, I am really pleased. Score one for the 'rents.

All Geared Up!

It's that time again. Another hooligan takes to the field in full battle dress. This one, unlike his brother, is much less interested in the game, and more interested in the gear. During a recent stint as catcher, he spent most of the time during a grand slam standing off to the side of the plate admiring the stitching on his mitt. It was a watershed moment for him. He seemed to come to the realization that the glove is constructed of leather, and sewn together with strips of leather.

Later, at dinner, he asked where leather comes from. Pat, ever the educator, informed his young sibling that it comes from "cow". "just like your hamburger. That's cow too".

Connor no longer eats hamburgers. Or cows in general, for that matter. He likes chicken though. "I like cows. they are nice. Hard to like chickens though. They talk too much". Good to know. Plus, they make good nuggets.

The rest of the story....

Lest you think all was well while Mary was down with pirate patches on her eyes, let me relate a sample dinner story.

I took the kids out to Island Burger for burgers (duh). I brought my mom with me for back up- she still has the stare that stops them in their tracks. Or at least she used to.

I cannot confirm that this actually happened as related to me because I was in the bathroom trying to convince Connor to come out of the stall he had barricaded himself in, but here goes.

I was in the restroom (see above), leaving Nana, Joe and Pat at the table- Nana and the Joester on one side, and Pat across from Joe on the other. Pat looks at my mom and says something to the effect of " So you came along so that when dad has to go to the bathroom with one of us the rest aren't left alone to get in trouble, huh?" Mom says "yes, but you are such good boys I don't think there was anything to worry about". Sigh. NEVER EVER say anything that could even remotely be construed as a challenge. You can guess what happened next. Pat leans up and over the table and pops Joe in the face. Dead on. Joe submarines under the table, and proceeds to give Pat a nutcracker. Then they both return to their positions.

I return with the little one to find a serene scene thinking I should have stayed at the table and sent my mother to coax him out. Boy was I wrong.

The wife can see!

Mary had Epi Lasic. What an ordeal. It is different from regular Lasic in a couple of gruesome ways. I was able to watch (without retching!) so I will enlighten you.
First they drugged her. She was loopy. Quite alluring, I have to admit; reminded me of...well, never mind. Anyway. Then they clamped her eyes open. Very Clockwork Orange.
Then they have this arm come out and SCRAPE away the cornea. Ugh. I would have been out of the chair at that point, but then again, I can hold my meds.... Then another little machine comes into play; it clamps onto the eyeball and draws out the lens via suction. Literally. Then the laser comes on and sculpts the lens. Mary said she could smell her eyeball burning. We paid good money for this, BTW. Then they put drops and finally, a protective contact lens.

I drove her home after meeting with the doctor again. He stressed taking all the meds for pain, swelling (not a pretty mental image there...think Gene Wilder), and infection.

I have been managing the children for 5 days. I have actually done a pretty good job, but I am bushed from the wake up every 6 hours to medicate the Joester thing. I have to admit that I didn't get him his meds till 7:30 this morning. I had to sleep.

Anyway, they took the lens off today and she has 20/40 vision. She had 20/1000 before. Legally blind. Sort of explains me being in the picture, huh. I was in that semi panic but have to deal mode all weekend because there was a risk of her going blind...er. But all is well. She is SO happy. She was an incubator baby because she was a twin and they were premies. that's what they did in the 60s, and it messed up her eyes. She has been waiting for years for technology to catch up with the severity of her condition, and as soon as it did she was all over it. I am proud of her.

Are you smarter than a Fourth Grader?

I have the distinct pleasure of having TWO at the same time. And so we can get some efficiencies of scale on the homework front. That said, it really does matter who does what with them. Mary rocks for the history and social studies stuff. Not that I am a slouch in that department, but she just absolutely loves those subjects. And since she has such passion for them she does not seem to mind the blank stares- it just gives her an opportunity to repeat herself. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Here is my problem. She gets so excited about things that she then treads into waters that are too deep for her, and where she clearly cannot swim. I'm talking Mathematics and Science. Here is an example: Fractions. This whole subject is lost on her. Converting to decimal, making comparisons, reducing to their simplest form, etc. Not her bag. And don't even get me started on Science.

OK. Here's an example: The oldest is off to the east coast for a school trip over the Easter break. She has to pack her own suitcase. There is a weight limit. For a guy, this is not an obstacle- bring less stuff. For a girl, it is a mountain to be climbed. There is easily 10 lbs of beauty related products. Net of the electrical appliances that MUST go with her.- hair dryers, hair curlers, hair straighteners (WTH?). The wife's solution is to use those bags that you put clothes in and then roll up to get the air out. "This will give her more room and reduce the weight; after all, air is weight" the wife says with glee, with the junior female in the backround nodding in agreement.

Let me repeat that for you in case you didn't catch it: "Air is weight".

Clearly, in the Science arena of her Circus, she is working without a net.

The dog is wearing out her welcome

The new dog is getting a little bit too comfortable in my bed. She seems to think that she is the primary user of the bed. This includes the pillows. My pillow, to be specific. I don't mind the dog in the bed- we have always had a little footwarmer in bed with us- but this one does not understand her place. The phrase "foot of the bed" springs to mind. All the other dogs have wrapped themselves around our feet (with some occasional exceptions) but Sheila seems to think that she is a hat, and that she belongs on my head. I do not enjoy being growled at because I shifted the orientation of my head during the night, nor do I enjoy the long stick legs that sometimes greet me when I open my eyes in the morning because she is draped over my head. I am sure that dog lovers would disagree, but I am compelled to express my displeasure at this. I am a Red Sox fan, and if I want to wear a hat, it will have a B on it, and it will not have a face.

Speaking of Red Sox, Connor is a Yankee this season. I am one of the coaches, so I have the joy of picking up a Yankee jersey and wearing it on opening day tomorrow. I am not happy about that. I may wear my Red Sox hat. Then again, I may not. Bastards.

Continual Partial Attention Syndrome

I am concerned. A while back I read about the affliction our kids are suffering from: Continual Partial Attention Syndrome. I was originally concerned because I have two with ADD. Then I spent some time observing the oldest. She can argue with me, do homework, listen to music, and, AND, text on her cell phone WITHOUT LOOKING AT THE PHONE. But so much of all the things she is participating in go over her head-in one ear out the other- (OK, probably only things related to me...) that it is causing problems (again, mostly for my issues with her).

I then paid attention to my own life- specifically my work practice. I suffer from this horrible disease also. Ugh. I tend to be on con calls, doing some email, dealing with paper on my desk, sending and receiving text messages (I am old and need to look at the phone), and listen/deal with family stuff. And I am not feeling particularly successful at any of them. So I am going to make an effort to silo things. Go old school and start to schedule tasks and do one thing at a time. How sad that it has come to this; the nuns were right. I will work on a plan and post it for comment. When I get around to it amongst the many other things I am doing.
Right.

Yet another one for the list....

Maybe it's just me, but I have been keeping a list of things I never thought I would yell. I have had a great laugh over the years at some of the responses I have had to what transpires around this house. I added another one yesterday.

I was out cleaning out the inside of the Suburban. It needed it. God did it need it. Two full carpet shampoo basins of awful colored water. Yech. Anyway, I was listening in on what goes on in the court so as to head off any mayhem, and to have a good description of what happened for any paramedics or other uniformed officials that might arrive on the scene. I have taken to just belting out commands without a second thought when the situation calls for it. So here it is:
"NO ONE rides to their doom in the Chariot of Death without a helmet!" *Why? Cause if you are on any wheeled device in MY court, you have to have a helmet on. Even if you are NEAR one, put your hat on. If you look like you are thinking about it, put it on. As a matter of fact, if you are outside, wear your helmet.* Joe was giving rides "to your doom" to the neighbor kids. He has a broken arm, you see, otherwise he would be doing it himself. Believe me, he tried. I stopped him. Anyway, the Chariot of Death ride is a quick pull down the steep driveway next door followed by an immediate release of the handle of the old rickety big wheeled plastic playschool wagon with the wheels that turn independently in the front. But wait, there's more. Obstacles. Low, wheel course changing obstacles. Otherwise, it just isn't a Chariot of Death. Oh- they had to do it with their hands in the air. Why on earth would you want to wear a helmet for that?!

Joe's response?- "Chariot of FIERY Death, dad! Get it right!"

Oh. I stand corrected. Carry ID so they can identify the body.

There's nothing for breakfast!

Ungrateful little trolls! RRRR! I make them Belgian Waffles (mix, not toaster style!),

and then, when they don't like those, I make OMLETTES!

Do they like them? NOOOOOO! "WE WANT CANDY!" Well, forget it. I ate it all last night! HA!

The irony here is that I will probably get the "you need to give your children breakfast before you send them to school" lecture at parent conferences this month.

And now, off to my happy place.

Happy Happy Joy Joy!

My hot tub is back in operation! I had to bring it down for all the construction, but now that the work is all done I was able to run my conduit and fire it up. I marinated last night like a big white Maine Lobster! Whhhoooooyyyyaaaa! It felt good after my workout to go sit in the tub and
relax with the stars above. It started to drizzle about 11PM, but that actually makes it better.
Cold air, cold rain, Red Sox cap, hot tub. Giddyupp!

Now, back to work. It's great working for a high tech firm- blogging is actually working! What a country! Take THAT BORAT!

A poetic response

One squirrel
two squirrel
black and blue squirrel.

You cannot fly
my little squirrel
so do not climb
and do not hurl.

You cannot fly
from on the roof
you will land hard
you will go "oof!"

You cannot fly
from on the couch
you will crash land
you will go "ouch!"

You should not try
to reach the grass
you will fall short
upon your A**

All these things
that you have tried
you have not succeeded
but have not died.

But once again
you have a cast
and this, I fear
is not the last.

And you cannot help
your brother fly
you'll make mom mad
and he may die.

For catapults
they are medieval
and your little plan
it is pure evil.

Our next door neighbors
like their fenced yard
the do not want Connor
flying in, and landing hard.

He will be crying
when the authorities come
so no more history channel
for you, my son.

Ground Hog Day

We got another one of those great calls from school. The Joester broke his arm again. Actually, I should rename this post "Flying Squirrel Day" because one of the previous events involved an attempt to imitate a flying squirrel. Unsuccessfully.

So once again, we spent a 6 hour stint in the emergency room. Fortunately, we have friends there because of all the time we spend there. One of the advantages of having a bunch of boys is that you get to know the people in the ER. It gets you the good meds. Man, I need some good meds. But that's another story.

I love the questions they ask. "How did this happen?". "I'm a kid. These things just happen".
My son, Plato (or, more appropriately, Playdoe). The proper question should be "How did this happen again?".

Clearly, the flying squirrel thing is a myth. I think the guys at myth busters should do an episode.

Since he had not eaten since breakfast, we took him out to eat at 8:30 when we got out of the ER. His choice, since he was the injured party. Anywhere. Where did we go you ask? Osaka Sushi. That's right. 45 bucks of raw fish. I didn't know squirrels ate sushi. Maybe just the flying ones.

What a way to spend the weekend!

Took the monkeys on an overnighter with the Cub Scouts. We spent the night on the USS Hornet, which is now a museum in Alameda, CA.

What a great way to get to know some history. It was our fourth trip to the Hornet- and I am looking foreword to next year already. Not that I get any sleep, but I am basically a 10 yr old with a checking account, so when we get to go do these kinds of things I get excited.

They have a rule on the ship- no running, shoving, or horseplay. If you get caught, then you have to do 2 push ups. Second offense, 4 pushups, etc. The twins got up to 6 push ups. Suffice to say, they don't learn quickly.


We slept in bunks like they did when the ship was active duty. I was up top because there was a bit more headroom, but that isn't saying much. The hooligans were stowed below. We stayed up till midnight to hear the ghost stories. It turns out that the Hornet is the third most haunted place in the country: Alcatraz, New Orleans, then the Hornet. Creepy.

The quote of the day came when we were discussing the "Special Weapons" area of the ship. The Hornet was one of the first to carry nukes, and they had a special area to deal with them. The docent explained that the area was closed off, and that the weapons had been removed. Joe piped in " where'd they take them? Can we go get them?" OF course not son. Then the best line " so where could a 9 year old boy get some if he wanted them, hypothetically?"
The docent gave me a look of pity. "You can't get them. Besides, your father wouldn't want you to have them." "oh, don't worry...we won't tell him. He can get his own."
North Korea, Iran, and now my house. Yay for me.