Things I probably should not have said at work this week.

It is only Tuesday, but already it has been a stressful week at work. Most of the people at my office are feeling the strain. Everyone has a different way of dealing with it. Some take lots of cigarette breaks. Others eat their way to inner peace. Some have a few drinks after work. Me, I do not like to let stress build up inside until it boils over. I prefer to let it out in the form of subtle passive-aggressive commentary.

So I give you, the printable version of things I have said at work so far this week.

1. "I am sorry, but it is difficult to take your suggestion seriously because it looks like your mommy dressed you this morning."
2. "I am sorry, am I making you nervous? No? Would you like me to?
3. "Hey Mark, have you taken a look at this problem Metric?" (Me) - "You're a problem metric!"
4. "If it were not for the fact that you would actually be better off, I would try to have you  fired."
5. "Wow. And you said that with such a straight face. OMG, you actually thought that was the solution!"
6. "Did you learn that at the Community College of Dumas?" (I made sure the 'S' was not silent.)
7. "I found a book on Amazon.com for you, "How to Pretend U iz Smart, For Dummies."
8. "The boss in 'Dilbert" was not meant to be a role model."
9 "I am sorry that you feel  that I do not respect you as a person or your work. But you are right, I don't."
10. "I don't want your thanks. If I needed accolades and positive affirmations I would still be working in the chorus line at the Moulon Rouge."

The Need For Restraint.

Hey Folks, I have added some new features to the blog. Hope you like the changes!

One of the reasons I am on the several govermental and neighborhood watchlists could be related to my propensity to blurt my thoughts. It gets me in trouble in everything from work meetings, to family life, to church and beyond.

Here is a partial list.

Earlier this week, Josh heard the Cicada's buzzing and asked why they do that. I told him they are calling their girlfriends in their special Cicada language. He replies, " Can I make that sound too?" I blurted, "Sure kid, why don't you go stand out front and holler up a prom date?"

Right before bed Josh tells me,"Daddy, I want to grow up when I am 4 and have a baby." Me: "Uhm,  maybe you should wait til you turn 6 and I will already be your grandpa."

Josh asked me why it is called Fathers Day. "Because today we go to the mall so he can pick out a new father."
One night just before bedtime Josh was in the bathroom and is squawking loudly. I actually heard myself bark out; " JOSH! Shut you mouth and brush your teeth!"

Laying in bed early morning I leaned over and kissed my wife Dessy. The older kid stumbles in and announces he cannot get the television to work. Candidate for Father of the Year reply? "Whaddya want from me, I can't even get your mother turned on!

Unfortunately, my 4 and a half year old Josh is a quick study. He has some snappy retorts of his own. A few nights ago, I pulled Josh up close and told him how much I love him.His reply- "Yeah but I wish you would make me a tortilla sandwich with some meat in it."

Two weeks ago, Josh was talking on the phone to his 3 year old cousin who was telling Josh about her day; "Amanda, if you keep talking long, I will have to do my blood pressure!"



Josh also has the ability to blurt with subliminal meanings. This morning I was showering and apparently started to sing some words from LMFAO, - the Party Rock song. Josh heard me and asked what I was talking about. I explained it and he said "O.K." but his inflection turned that simple acknowledgement to a totally different meaning. He really meant " Daddy, you are an overstuffed dork, and you need to stop singing songs that were meant for someone 1/4th of your age."


Now, sometimes my thoughts go beyond the normal vocalization and become actions. I am not sure which is worse, the action or the spoken word.

Case in point, I was asked by my wife to make hamburger meat on a stick for the boys. I mixed the meat, some spices, egg and Worcestershire sauce, then rolled them out, skewered them and put them in the oven to bake. The end result was less than appetizing and I hoped that the boys would polish them off. Two days later, one landed in my lunch and I was not interested in it at all and as a matter of fact I was disgusted by it. It needed to be out of the way, as I was on a conference call, and  I unthinkingly stuck it in my Christmas cactus on my desk then promptly forgot all about it.

A couple of more days pass, and I begin to smell something odd at my desk. It was not horrible, but strange enough to justify looking around for what was wrong. I found it.

I defy anyone to convince me that this does not look like anything but poo on a stick. Now I have a moral dilemma. Oh I could just toss this in the trash and be done with it. OR,
I could leave it in a conspicuous place in the elevator at work and have a HazMat team deployed. I guess that I need to make a decision soon because the stench is starting to make me want to say something. And we all know how that ends up.

The Scare

Wanna know how to get my blood pressure to set off alarms? Ask my wife, she has

perfected the process until it is nearly an art form. Last night I came home to

find her on the couch resting and complaining of having a headache, some nausea

then she went to bed early. This morning Dessy walks up to me right before I get

into the car, hands me some money and just before she starts to cry, asks me to

purchase a pregnancy test kit on the way home.

Time suddenly came to a screeching halt. The air became thick and I could smell

the acrid smell of urine and suddenly my socks were warm and wet. The only

sounds I could hear were the sounds of heartbeat increasing, and the tick, tock,

tick, tock from the clock on the wall. In the back of my mind I could hear a

faint cry of the infant to be.

After a minute or so I became aware that I was not breathing and had to force myself to inhale and mentally come back to the scene of this train wreck I call life.

I am in shock. I was willing to stay home with Dessy, but she did not want me to be late to work, so away I went, spending the entire hour long drive in deep thought.

I first thought about how I would be 70 years old when the little girl graduated high school. (Yeah, I imagined that it was a girl). Next I realized that I would have to take all the baby furniture that I had in the garage ready to sell back in the house. I started to worry about how I would need to stay awake for another year and a half. I calculated that I would now be paying an additional $4000 in diapers and wipes over the next two years.

I said goodbye to my dream of having a wide screen television and matching surround sound system.

But mostly I felt bad for my wife, who would be trapped for another 4 years before getting to really get to be free from 24 hour a day child care.

I was a nervous wreck at work. I tried to not be too conspicuous about my panic.

But as it turns out, other men know the smell of fear and down deep in some dark crevasse of innate knowledge they perceived what was going on. Then they all start grunting and offering advice. The least useful and most offensive tidbit offered was when one individual pulled a huge rusty set of scissors out of his desk and sneered, "Snip snip!"

The conversation then devolved into a discussion of everyone else's vasectomies and how hideously painful they were. After hearing the part about the cauterizing torch welding some poor guys bollocks to the operating table I decided to just head on over to the local farm supply store and get the ACME Goat Neutering device and do it myself. I figure it will be less pain and I can do it over the weekend in the back yard.

After sitting and sweating and worrying for a couple of hours my office phone rings. Dessy is calling, and I panic.  I wheeze out, "OH MY GOD are you in LABOR???" She said, “Don't worry hon, everything is fine. I just miscounted the days on my calendar.” I was dumbstruck. Relieved, but still. This was all because of a mistake in addition? My heart was still pounding. Dessy then said to me, "Is your heart racing? I bet that is the closest you have been to doing aerobics in years! Byeeee!" and she hung up.

Well, Dessy may not be pregnant, but I think I just had a cow.

Door to Door Solicitors.

You probably will find this hard to believe about me, but I do not have a welcome mat at my front door. If I could get away with having a moat filled with solicitor-eating alligators and piranhas, I would put it around my house in an instant.
It is not that I against having people visit our home, it is just that I have a "Zero Tolerance" attitude towards high pressure sales pitches. I do not always walk away with all my money intact, but I have the satisfaction that I have made them sing for their supper so to speak. 

I have been known to badger the heck out of politicians, religious zealots, vacuum cleaner salesman and magazine sales people. It really doesn't matter what the reason they show up on my step, if someone interrupts my solitude by ringing the doorbell, I get nasty. If they are selling something I demand to
see their vendor permit. If they are telling me I need to go to church I impudently dissect their particular theological standpoint to the point that they are willing to promise to switch to my religion, if I would just shut up and let then go home.
On that last point I can tell you, I know enough about religious practice that I can ask all the wrong questions.

Case in point; a month ago a teen shows up selling a Denver newspaper. I was in the back room when I heard the bell ring. By the time I made it to the door, my wife had already heard most of his sales pitch. I size up the kid, a skinny high school senior boy with glasses and all the confidence of mouse in a snake pit. Dessy turns to me and before she can tell me what she wants, I ask the kid why he is talking to my wife. "Are you asking her out on a DATE boy?" He sputtered out a weak "No Sir." and it was game on.

He started to explain that if we bought the paper we would get free tickets to a professional baseball game. I looked at him and told him that my religion prohibits participation in sports. He looked shocked and apologized. He then told me he was a member of a local church and that he was going on a mission trip to Africa this summer. I glare at him and bark out, "What do you plan to do? Go Westernize the feral’s? Aren't you afraid the dingo will eat your baybay" The kid looks a little scared and it is clear he does not know
the difference between Australia and Africa. So I ask the kid what his actual denomination was, be it Catholic, Hasidic or Hindu. The kid is starting to shake at this point. He hedges and says he believes in God and his church is non denominational. Me; "Which denomination is non denominational? Do you believe in like Jesus or something?" The kid: "Well we believe in god. A Christian god. Sir, would you like to buy a paper or not?"
Me: "What do you believe about your god? Is he in a building or in your heart?" The kid blurts out "NO, NO, God is in Everything!" I swoop in for the kill and said, "God is in everything? SO you ARE a Hindu!" At this point I think he pee'd a little and he said he heard God telling him to go home. So I paid for the subscription and released him back to the mean streets, which as it turns out were a lot safer than my front porch.

I figured that the word would spread and people would steer clear of my house. It was not to be.

Two weeks back my wife tells me that a representative from the internet provider showed up and informed her that we were paying too much for our internet and he could get her a deal where we got free cable tv for the same price. Now Dessy, she has been missing some of her favorite channels since we gave up cable 3 years ago. She loves the home and garden and cooking channels.
Last Friday, I get home from work n the table was a work order to have the service changed. Dessy said she was tired of the spotty reception we get with the rabbit ears antenna, and she wanted free cable. Yesterday a package was delivered and it held the cable tv box. I opened it up, and set about installing it. Just as I get started, Dessy decided I need to rearrange my home network and phone system. I pull out wires, replace cords, all that. It takes me about three hours and it is all reconnected and the tv set up. We sit back and turn on the tv. Nothing. Big blank Screen. I call the cable company and they ask me how I installed it. I told them in detail. The tech asks "Sir, did you take off such and such wire off the back of the converter?" Me; "Of course I did, what do you think I am, an idiot?"
Silence.
"No sir, you are not an idiot. Can you put that wire back where you found it?" I did, and it turned right on.

I sit back on the couch and with great satisfaction look at my adorable wife and ask her if she is happy to have more channels. Her response; "I don't really care as long as we get CBS." I was incredulous.
We got that just fine WITH THE ANTENNA!!!

Pain, Panic and the Preposterous

I like the cold. Love it actually. Winter is the best time of the year for me. I just get too excited whenever it starts to snow. I want to play. Sometimes the overwhelming compulsion of my zeal for silliness outweighs common sense. Late last December we had a nice little snowstorm in Colorado and in the course of watching the snow come down I had the most brilliant idea of running outside in bare feet and shorts to make snow angels in the back yard. Of course as soon as my bare feet hit the icy steps I tumbled down and cracked my knee pretty hard on the concrete stair below. It serves me right.

2 months later and I am still limping around, and the pain is getting intolerable. I have been avoiding medical attention because I have been hoping it will heal on its own. But my coworkers are now laughing at me because I walk like an old man, and I have realized that it is time to attend to the injury. The teasing had not gotten to me until my little boy Johnnie started imitating my lumbering around too.

My first attempt to get help, I called a family doctor and made an appointment. I showed up, obviously injured, and made my way to the front desk. The receptionist looked less than interested in my plight as she looked down her pointy nose at me. "Can I help you?" she said in a sarcastic and surprisingly nasal voice. I gave my name and said I had hurt my knee and needed to have it looked at. The receptionist rolled her eyes and looked at the clock. "Fill out this clipboard full of papers and bring them back to the front." I started to fill them out and she sort of made an "Ahem" sound and informed me I needed to leave and bring them back at a later time. When I mentioned that I really needed help right away, I got the evil eye look, like I was somehow cutting in on her personal reflection time or something. I handed back the completed paper work and was told they would call me in a couple of weeks with an appointment! I was a little flabbergasted and asked why I could not be seen sooner and was told that if I wanted help now I should go to urgent care. Well then. I looked at her and smiled and said, "Thank you very little." And away I went.

I found the Urgent Care and they immediately got me in line for an X-ray. They scheduled me for an MRI and that is where the fun begins.

The MRI was scheduled at the hospital. I pulled up to the parking lot and out ran a kid saying, "Give me the keys mister." I got pretty defensive, not being prepared for this attempted car jacking. I was about to beat the daylights out of the kid reaching for my car keys when I saw the sign offering complimentary valet service for hospital visitors. I smiled weakly at the kid and proceeded to clear off the layer of fast food wrappers from the front seat of my old Honda. I gave him the keys and in my snootiest voice, told him to try and use a little finesse with this finely tuned machine. "Yah, what ever Grandpa!" he snorted as he raced off squealing the tires the whole way.

They get me checked in and moved to a room deep in the basement of the hospital. I was ordered to remove all metal from my pockets and surrender my personal effects to a locker. I was led into a dark room, made to lay on a narrow plank and they strapped my leg down so I could not move. I was given a set of headphones and asked what sort of music I wanted. Up on the ceiling there were pretty pictures of grassy fields and waterfalls. I felt like I was in that scene from Soylent green where I was about to be euthanized in the most peaceful way possible.

I was comfortable and listening to music when the table started to move. I was being loaded into a huge donut like tube and the paranoid thought started to churn. "What if something goes wrong and the magnet gets too strong, will it make all my molecules disassociate? Will the magnetron blow up and cut off my legs?" I started to squirm at the thought and over the headphone I hear, "HEY, Hold still!" I tried to calm down then they turned on the machine. It was loud. REAL loud. I was trying not to panic. The noise reminded me of the tree branch shredders you see after a big windstorm. Again I wondered if I was about to be a victim of complete morselization. Then the machine, in addition to making the loud whirring started to make a clapping noise. I tried to think happy thoughts. Cute little kitty cats, serene waterfalls. Water babbling on the brook. Dripping, bubbling soothing water. Dammit, now I have to pee. The voice over the headphones comes back on. "Are you doing OK there? Only 20 more minutes and we will be done." Yea, right. In ten minutes I am going to be legless and covered in urine.

The whirring gets a little louder and more intense. I remember a science fiction movie where there was a fat guy got too much radiation and it changed him into a mutant super hero. I try to imagine what my super power will be. I even think of a catchy super hero name. I will be... Captain Lederhosen. My superpower is that I can eat all the sausages and bratwurst in the meat case at the Sam’s Club. Nah, that sucks. Maybe I will be "Sparkman, Defender of Justice." As I was deciding on a super power, the room suddenly got quiet. I realized I must have been thinking out loud as the machine spun to a halt. The attendant asked if I needed anything. I sheepishly said was alright and I lay there without speaking as they continued the testing for a few more minutes. 

The testing finally was over, and I was allowed to get dressed. The attendant took me to the exit, and the valet was alerted that I was coming. Apparently news travels fast in a hospital, because as I was given my car keys back, the valet ducked back into his office. Just before he slammed the door shut I heard him laugh out loud and he said, "Thanks for saving the world from keilbasa there, Captain Sparkman!"

It's gonna be hard to live that one down.

Another Milestone.

It is no secret that my older boy, about to turn 4 is a smart kid. He knew his ABC's visually and orally, and could count to 10 in two languages at the tender age of 18 months. I was so proud of him.

Josh excelled at everything we threw at him be it language, motor skills, reasoning, dressing himself, you name it. Except for one thing, pooping on the potty. Josh learned right away how to go pee pee and was good at it. Lesson learned, end of story. I was quite pleased. But he would not for the life of me go to the toilet to do number 2. I would have him sit on the pot and coax, threaten,  and ultimately bribe him to go. No way, no how. He would sit there and look at me and whine that he could not. I would ignore his protest and chant, "Poop, poop, poop!" like it was a mantra. I could not believe my little prodigy could not "make" like the other little urchins who had it mastered a year before.

I read articles I talked to other parents. They said that he would  follow his own schedule and not to worry. Well I worried. I encouraged, I argued. I let him know that if he cannot go like the other kids he would not be allowed in preschool, something he wants pretty bad now. I tried explaining that if I had to buy less diapers it might increase his chances of getting a cool toy. I tried reasoning with him about long term consequences such as how his prom tux wont fit right over his pull ups. He was not giving in. I finally surrendered.

A few months passed and I decided to have another talk with the boy. I asked him to try again. He decided to give it a go and sat down. He asked me to give him privacy and a few minutes later YAHTZEE!!! He was grinning ear to ear, and I was ecstatic. I told him how proud I was, and we made a big deal over it. I hugged him and gave him a treat, and would have taken a picture, but his mommy drew the line at that. I guess she did not want me Face Booking that sort of image. Oh and I would have too. Some of you may remember how I announced the pregnancy with Josh as a single picture of the positive E.P.T. device. no words, just the picture.

Since then he has done great. I keep making sure to tell him how proud he makes me cause he can poop in the toilet now. 

Life moved on.

A few weeks have gone by. I have been stricken with the local crud that is going around. What is it about mid January anyway? The holidays came and went with no real illness. The new year arrives and everything looks great. Then the whole office get sick. It always starts with one person too. The one that refuses to work at home when they are sick, because it somehow seems reasonable to come and infect the whole office. I hate those people, mostly cause they always insist they are not contagious, then the next day everyone else gets the flu. A couple of days pass by and I am really feeling poorly. I am running to the bathroom a lot, sneezing, achy, and runny nose. I finally took a day off from work just to sleep. I made it to the bed, but as it turns out, I would have gotten more peace and quiet at the office. Every time I started to drift off to sleep one of the kids would come in the room wanting me to read a story, or buy them a pet elephant or get them some ice cream from Dairy Queen. Never mind that every time I got up, I ended up racing to the bathroom to puke or have another bout of diarrhea. I finally closed the door and lay down. As soon as I drifted off, bam, Bam, BAM! on the door. I moaned, "What NOW?" Josh barked back through the door, "Daddy, I want to tell you sumpthin." I slowly get up and limp to the door. " What is it boy?" Josh is standing there with a loving look, and says "Daddy, I am so proud of you for pooping in the toilet!" Me; "Don't be so sure kid."

Well, what was I supposed to say?

New Year, Same Life.

I had high hopes. I vowed tangible changes would happen. We would leave our old problems behind. A new year, a new outlook on life, a new beginning. In anticipation of a new start, I even tried to get a jump on things and attempted to start my resolutions early. I did not over eat during the holidays and I tried to be calmer with the kids. I tried to stop worrying so much. I made a vow to try harder to be on time to everything.

On New Years Eve, I stood outside by myself, thinking about what I wanted to change, and how I would be different in the future. My resolve was strong, and I was happy and confident that at midnight I would be a completely new man.

As I slipped into bed shortly after midnight, my wife asked me if I had taken a shower in order to symbolically not carry anything from 2011 into 2012. She seemed a little incredulous that I had overlooked something as profound as a ritual cleansing. It was not good enough that I had showered earlier in the day. I think that somehow I was supposed to realize that there was a need to not carry my old self into the new year. It got me wondering though. How was I supposed to rid myself of the old in a way that did not carry over into the new year? I mean, technically at what point do you step out of the shower and not take last years horror with you? You would have to get out of the tub and towel off at precisely 12 midnight, one second before or after and you may as well never showered at all. I might add that explaining this to Dessy did not help my case and I think I ruined the chance for a fresh start of another New Year for her. 

Sunday morning, January 1st, I woke up started to get the kids ready for church, of course half an hour later than I really should have gotten up. Arrived at church 5 minutes late of course. Josh informed me that he had to go to the bathroom, so while I took care of his needs, Dessy rushed off to work in the nursery. Upon exiting the boys room I was informed that there were no children's classes that morning so Josh had to come sit with me. The word "sit" is really a relative term in this case. Josh was squirming, twisting and could not decide if he wanted to stand or kneel in his chair. Everyone was singing the opening songs, and I decided that Josh could look at pictures on my phone. I was sure this would entertain him in a very quiet manner. The last song came to an end, and the pastor stood up to make the announcement that we should all be seated. I was waiting for the word to sit and suddenly there in the middle of the sanctuary, in front of God and all the angels, Josh decided to play Angry Birds. The music cut through the attitude of solemn worship and I reached for the phone to turn it off. Then Josh before handing it back, LOCKED IT!!!! Everyone else sat as I stood there in utter panic, trying to punch in the password. I sat down and saw people whispering and pointing at me. I could feel my blood pressure rising. I set down the phone and looked up toward the front of the church trying hard to be less conspicuous. As the pastor gave his opening remarks, Josh sneakily took my phone and turned on the Angry Bird game AGAIN!!! I guess you get better with practice, so I was able to shut it off quicker that time.

I took a few deep breaths trying to calm down. Josh looked at me and whispered, "Daddy, I need to go to the bathroom." I whispered back that he had just gone and that we needed to listen to sermon. Josh responded rather well to this and sat quietly like a good boy. Just kidding, He put his head down started crying and wailed, "Daddy, I am going to pee my pants!!!" I grabbed Josh, the phone, the kid's coat and took him back to the bathroom. Of course when he tried to go to the toilet, he let go with all of two drops. I dare not re-enter the sanctuary after all this so we sat in a side room and listened to the sermon. Or at least I tried. Josh was pretty content to be able to sit near me and ask questions about the pictures on the wall, the decor and why there was a throbbing purple vein on my forehead.

After the service was concluded, I tried to sneak out the front door, but was stopped cold by the Pastor. He put his hand on my shoulder, his eyes dancing. He informed me that a couple of the teenage boys were hoping to give me hints on how to play angry birds in silent mode so that next time I would not get caught.

Happy New year.

The Holidaze, Part Three, - The Apocalypse.

Friday morning, December 23, 2011. This day, so I am told, according to the Mayan calendar is the first day of the end of the world. Maybe the Mayans were not as far off from the truth as we thought. Upon waking up, I felt a twinge of pain in the toes of my left foot. It was a foretelling of things to come in the very near future. I initially thought that I may have suffered a bad cramp in my sleep but after a couple of hours I was limping badly and the foot had swollen to twice the normal size. It quickly progressed from a twinge to excruciating pain. I Googled the symptoms and  determined it was either a stress fracture in the foot, or maybe bursitus. Not having time to deal with it properly I took a pain killer and tried to get all the other work that was needed to be completed before zero hour arrived.

My wife Dessy and I had gotten all the presents we wanted for the children, and I had stashed them out in the SUV so the kids could not find them. We carefully planned out what present to buy for Josh, finding the perfect balance of a fun, educational and affordable toy. Oh, and it would not kill anyone if it actually performed a needed function in the home.

Josh has always been interested in the vacuum cleaner, and when I saw a shiny red Dirt Devil on clearance for 10 dollars, I knew I was going to be a hero in a little boys eyes. When I got home, I wrapped all the presents, and hid them away.

Christmas eve arrived and I put all of it under the tree. Josh was very curious and asked me who the big box was for. "Why, now that you ask Josh, it is for your little brother because we could only afford one gift and we decided it was best to give it to the kid who could not talk well enough to voice his disappointment."
Josh, being used to this sort of answer by now ignored me and asked what was in the big box. Just to shut him up, I replied that it was a garage door opener. Josh seemed to accept this with out further investigative type interrogation. I thought that was the end of it, until a couple of hours later Josh came to me and informed me that the fake Christmas tree was defective enough that it managed to rip a piece of the wrapping paper off of the garage door opener present. I tried to hide my smirk and called out to Dessy, " Hon! Josh told me the tree is trying to open the presents! Maybe we can train it to open the mail too!  Dessy muttered something like "Ahh staga naga!" which either means "God Help me." or Why didn't I marry a doctor instead of guy who thinks he is funny?"

As Josh became more excited about the big event, he became increasingly naughty and so I resorted to a tactic that I am not proud of. Overt threats. "Josh, Stop dropping F-bombs, Santa knows you are being naughty." or "Josh! Stop hitting your brother, Santa will give all your presents to starving kids in China!" OK, I admit, sometimes I mix the metaphors and it may not actually deliver the message that was trying to convey. 

Evening rolled around and we head out to the Church for a candle light service. We sat in the pew and Josh noticed that there had been a pre service mixer with cookies and other finger foods. While we were singing   "Oh Holy Night" Josh dashed off and he came trotting back up with a plate of cookies and crackers. He was nice about it, and shared crackers with his brother, but managed to eat two large cookies. Then the pastor announced that the kids had a special treat and to come on up and get it. Josh came back with another sugary treat. Service ended and the boy was starting to get his sugar high on. He went to say goodbye to the pastor and came back with yet ANOTHER cookie. The pastor had just made a comment to my wife about how wonderful it was to have Josh sing in the kids choir the week before and how maybe next year he will not run laps around the stage and hold his ears in mock pain while the other kids were singing. At this point, Josh is literally running all over the church and was making overly loud jet engine sounds. It was not looking like we were going to get him to bed early.

We arrived home and Josh asked for the fifteenth time if it was Christmas yet. I explained that It was close, but if he was still awake when Santa came, then our house would be passed over and no presents would be found in the morning.I then took Josh to the bedroom, sat him and his brother down and tried to explain the true meaning of Christmas by reading "TheNativity". Then I read "Twas the Night Before Christmas" which in retrospect may not have helped drive the message home how Jesus was born in a manger, not delivered by Santa's sleigh.

The boys fell asleep and I began to assemble the presents that needed it. By 2 a.m. I was done and Dessy and I were ready to go to sleep. Maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it is my twisted and tortured nature, but I had an idea on how to really get Josh excited about Santa. I took a string of sleigh bells that I have, and stood outside of Josh's window and shook them with all my might. I bellowed out, "HO HO HO, Merrrrrrryyyyy Christmas!" I heard Josh cry out, Mommy it is SANTA!!!" I then fired off a few rounds from my shotgun and yelled, "Get the HELL off my roof and take those over grown goats with you!"
I came back inside to find a wide eyed little boy who looked very confused. I did not say a word, and went to bed. I figured that Josh was smart enough to draw his own conclusions.

The next morning we slept til about 7 and got the kids up to see their reaction. Josh loved his presents, and Johnathan being only 14 months, was experiencing his first Christmas with a tree and presents. It was not long until there was piles of ripped up wrapping paper, boxes that the toys were in, ad toys them selves strewn all over the living room.  I was expecting the kids to be in a state of bliss, but I could not have been more wrong. It turns out that if you give kids a few presents, they do not grab hold of the of Peace on Earth, Good will to Men concept, but rather they become even more greedy and selfish. One kid crying, the other kid standing in the corner tell me that I daddy, not Josh that was being naughty. It was just horrible.

Dessy was upset with me all of a sudden, because somehow all this was my fault. Never mind that we had gone together to buy the presents, and Dessy had gone off script with a couple of items. It was still my fault. I pointed out that I had not received any presents and was not acting out at all, but Dessy who had been given the most romantic holiday gift I could think of; an electric donut maker, was not being a good little girl and was actually starting to irritate the heck out of me. I would have told her if she is a bad girl that Santa might take her presents back. She quietly but firmly mentioned that Santa was not likely to come back after the  shotgun episode anyway. I knew I had lost the war on this one, so I just moved on.

The day after Christmas, Dessy wanted to go out for the big sales. My foot was starting to feel better so I was willing to walk around and brave the crowds. I personally hate this part of the holiday, because I always do the same things. I go buy an armload of Christmas lights at half price, forget about them for a few years and invariably end up giving a big box of brand new 5 year old lights to someone who can use them. Tonight we were out doing the shopping and I decided to go to a local Christmas light attraction known as the Greeley Griswolds. We sat out in front of the house, listening to the radio and the home coordinated musical selection that matched the lighting sequences. We stopped at McDonald's on the way, got a bag of chicken nuggets and french fries.

As we sat there munching away, watching the lights flash as the kids squealed in delight, I looked at my kids, my car full of Wal-Mart half price lights and ornaments, the smell of cold McDonald's food mixing with the smell of one of the kids soiled and stinky diapers wafting about me. I had a revelation that washed over me like a wave. I could not have asked for a better Christmas.

Next up, the count down to new years. 

The Holidaze, Part 2

The last few shopping days are upon us, and of course we just sat until nearly the last minute. This is what the retailers live for, the procrastinators waiting for the chance to get the best deals, when in reality all the good cheap stuff is gone and all that is left it wrapping paper and plastic fasteners for the Christmas lights. If you want a gift for the wife that won't keep you in the doghouse til next Christmas, you are going to have to pony up the cash there Sparky! And spend cash you will, despite your good intentions to not end up having to skip a utility payment or two in order to avoid making it a holiday that you will remember with all the fondness of the time you got your first colonoscopy.

A week or two ago when the kids got to take pictures with Santa, Josh asked for a bicycle. Santa looked up at me with a pleading look so I could slightly nod an affirmation that Josh indeed would be getting a bike. Santa's face fell when I took a look of indifference and said " Don't look at me buddy boy, if you were real, you would know if he is getting one or not!" Well, that set the tone for the rest of the day, and as we walked away, I looked back and snidely remarked that Santa should maybe stop having the three martini lunches before showing up for a photo op.

Josh got pretty excited about getting a bike, which was totally not in the game plan for us. So last night we decided to go pick out a couple of gifts at the Toys-R-Us for the boys. We knew what we wanted and got the last one on the shelf. Lucky for us there was no real pushing or shoving, or people breaking out the pepper spray to ward us off. Maybe that only happens at the Wal-mart.
After we got the toy in the cart I took Josh to see the bicycles. We put him on one with training wheels and I gave him a good shove to get him going. Josh fell right over and when I tried to force him back in the saddle he said 'Daddy, I am scared." In my most loving and fatherly voice, I then suggested that perhaps he was not ready for a bike after all. Josh said, "Yea, I am too little still."  "Josh, that is OK." I said. "Santa will bring you something else that you like." Now I am not admitting that this was all part of my cunning plan. But it worked out in my favor all the same.

When we were headed home it started to snow pretty hard. I was driving the sedan, and it was pretty slick out. I was not worried about it though, we would make it home and I still have my old SUV which plows through anything. If you can start it, that is.  Which this morning I could not. The battery had died and so I put it on the charger. While I cleaned off the driveway. I had gotten about halfway through the right side of the driveway when I heard geese honking overhead then what sounded like the pitter patter of Santa's little elves. For the record, it was not elves. I was able to duck into the garage before needing to rewash my hair, but it was a close call. I finished up shoveling the driveway then started up the Trooper and high tailed it over to the store to get a new battery.

As I stood in the parking lot with no coat and my hands freezing, I worked on replacing the battery muttering incessantly "You know what is more fun that having an SUV for the bad snow storms? Having the battery die and you are out in the Sam's Club parking lot changing the battery in 19 degree weather and snow with no gloves, that's what!
Apparently it was a very sorry sight because a Salvation Army bell ringer came over and gave me a few of bucks and told me to go get a bottle of Thunderbird to help be make it though the cold winters night. I really did not think I was that shabbily dressed, but maybe my wife was right about retiring my favorite old jeans and  my sun faded tattered "It's a Pepsi Generation" T-shirt.

Maybe Santa will know what to bring.

The Holidaze, Part 1

The holiday season has descended upon this family and I really have mixed feelings.
I love the whole thing, Thanksgiving, Christmas lights, lighting the menorah for Chanukah, the kids excitement about the decorations, and The New Years celebration. Not to mention the stress, the extra work, the increased debt load, and 43,000 extra calories I am plastering on my hips. As the children grow and show their delight, it makes it all worthwhile, right?

Please someone, tell me I am right!

Financially, we are in a lean season like so many other people. So I try and plan activities that are relatively cheap or even free. One of my favorites is going to see the holiday lights, a virtual freebie. Sometimes it does not work out as well as I would hope. Last night we drove down to the Denver capitol to see how nicely the Civic Center was lit up. Unfortunately we got there before the turned on the lights. Instead of getting to see the warm glow of thousands of little light bulbs, we got to see the Occupy Wall Street Protestors all lined up in their makeshift tents and boxes. It was a sad sight, because I did not see actual protesting. Rather I saw a lot of younger folks sitting around playing cards, and smoking like trains. Josh looked over the sight, seeing the garbage and tarps strewn all over. He asked me about who all the people were. Not wanting to reveal my true feelings, and break the holiday spirit, I just told him that they were some of Santa's elves. Josh looked a little confused, then asked, "Daddy, are elves all potheads? That one over there is lighting a joint!"

Now, given how many toys are advertised for Christmas, it is natural that the boys will want all the toys they see on display. The way I deal with this is with something that I like to call it the "Try It, But Never Buy It" maneuver. The way it works is that right before we leave for the store, I make the kid drink a quart of water. When we get to the store, I put Josh in the shopping cart and push him through the toy section of the store. I let him look until he sees a toy he wants to try out. I give it to him then as he plays with it, I walk him around a while until he realizes that he cannot live without it. By this time, the kid has to go pee. Then I wait 15 minutes until the Josh is desperate to not wet himself. He gets so distracted by this that I can put the toy back on the shelf and he does not realize what has happened until we are on the way back home.


Our three year old, Josh recently came home from Sunday school with a note instructing the parents that he was going to perform a couple of songs the next week and that we needed to ensure he would learn the song before arriving at the service. I sat with josh and taught him the words and tune to "Angels We Have Heard On High". Our sessions went well, as Josh is a fast learner, and soon Josh had the words and tune memorized. We were quite proud of our little boy.
Until the performance that is.
At the appointed time, Josh went up to stand with the kids, got in his appointed place and the music started. I lifted up my camera to get the video, and suddenly Josh was nowhere to be seen. I looked again and he was rolling on the floor. He got up and decided that he needed to inspect the back of the stage and started running laps around the rest of the choir. I was helpless, and had to curb my impulse to yell, "Get the hell back on the stage!" but of course I was in church and somehow that would label me as the "bad daddy". Josh then, satisfied that the back of the stage was fine, walks to the front of the choir and holds his hands over his ears. At this point I tried to sink into my chair, so no other parent would look at me and blame me for allowing my rotten kid to ruin their little snowflakes performance. As soon as the song was over, Josh came running back to my chair and said too loudly, "Daddy, I have to pee!" This was my chance and we snuck out the back of the church where soon there would be wailing and knashing of teeth, at least for Josh. I sat Josh down in a corner and defined proper performance behavior. He looked up at me with the "I am not listening to you daddy, and you may as well get used to it" face.

He's 3, whaddya do?

Pre Thanksgiving Fiasco

Time to get on the game face. Thanksgiving is just hours away.  We are in panic mode trying to do the last minute prep work before we have to wake up, watch parades, and cook up dinner. 

Instead of writing, I should be baking a pumpkin cheesecake. 

We gathered up the kids, and headed out to do a bit of shopping, despite it being the most desperate time to go to the supermarket, because everyone is out frantically looking for the things they forgot for the big meal. After we got our groceries, Dessy hinted that she was craving some Chinese food and that she had heard of a new place in town. Now, I need to explain  that we live in a historically agricultural area, the ethnic breakdown is something like 50 percent Caucasian, 45 percent Hispanic, 4.9 percent Somalian or Philippine folks. And about 10 families of Chinese descent. My point is, that you cannot get decent Chinese food here, no matter how you try. Fact is, at many of the Asian restaurants here, the staff is Hispanic. Go figure. 

We found the restaurant, which turned out to be a take out place with a couple of tables. We made our order and waited for it to arrive. 

Josh, our 3 year old was not interested in the fried rice we got him and asked for egg. At this point it may be important to point out that Josh just got over having a bout of the stomach flu. 

I looked at the menu and decided to get him an order of egg foo young. It came out and Josh looked excited. He took one bite and said it was good. I began to eat while the food was still hot then I heard a horrible noise. I was hoping it was just the sound of water spilling on to the floor but no, it was my kid blowing chunks all over the table. Not just once, not twice, but three iterations of the technicolor fountain comprised of fried rice, fried egg and what appeared to be wanton soup. It was just glorious. The proprietor, who had been chattering away in Cantonese suddenly switched to broken English and I think he was describing what water front property in Hong Kong looked like on a bright summers day, because it sounded like "Oh the sunny beaches over there!" I was horrified and asked for a role of paper towels while begging for forgiveness. We got it all cleaned up and headed out to the car. 

As I drove home in sullen silence, I remembered how once when I was about 10 years old, I was out at a smorgasboard restaurant with my family and I too managed to decorate the sink in the bathroom with an awful load of chunky soup. I remember my fathers reaction and how for years after that story came up at family gatherings. The rest of us laughed but oddly, my father remained a bit quiet about the memory. I felt compelled to call my parents right away, and I let them know what happened and how I no longer thought the story was funny. 

Oddly enough, my father found THAT to be funny.

It is time I get to baking, so I will leave you with a wish for a Happy Thanksgiving, and a poem I wrote for the holiday some years ago.

      Ode To Thanksgiving

      'Twas the morning of Thanksgiving,

      And all through my house.

      You can hear lots of screaming from me and my spouse.

      From inside the kitchen with groceries to spare.

      We argued and fought over how to prepare.

      The guests will be coming,

      Expecting our best.

      The food won't be ready

      And our house is a mess.

      When on top of the stove, the yams made a splatter,

      And Dessy came running, to see what was the matter.

      The potatoes were flying, as I started to mash,

      then fell on the floor and into the trash.

      The bread won't be made, cause I messed up the dough

      and the stuffing is runny, why I don't know.

      When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

      But a miniature wife, and I shuddered in fear

      With a gleam in her eyes, and armed with a stick,

      I knew in a moment it's my butt she would kick.

      She drew in a deep breath, I quivered in shame,

      She shouted , and heckled, then bellowed my name!

      Get out of my kitchen, you're just in the way.

      I can't stand your face for even one more day.

      Cut carrots,

      Chop Celery,

      Slice onion,  and ham.

      Make Gravy,

      Do it your way,

      I don't give a damn.

      As the yelling subsided, I wished I could die,

      My little boy shuddered and started to cry.

      Then mommy took over, I ran in fear,

      I hid in the basement and sipped on a beer.

      And then, in a twinkling, I heard a crash on the floor,

      Then wailing and crying and a slamming front door.

      I went to the kitchen to find no one there,

      The mess that had happened was too much to bear

      I laughed when I saw it, the food on the shelf!

      We're out of time, I said to myself.

      I thought for a moment, "This isn't so bad,

      Let's go have dinner with my mom and my dad

      We drove to their house, and told them the deal,

      and begged them to let us come in for a meal.

      Mom spoke not a word, Dad had a big smirk,

      And said to my face that I was a big jerk.

      He then thumbed his nose and slammed the door shut,

      I looked at Josh and Dessy and said "Now what?"

      She suddenly smiled, and said "I know a way!"

      And away we all went to the Country Buffet.

      We all ate our fill, for $ seven ninety nine,

      Then went back to the house for a cheap glass of wine.

      As we fell asleep on the sofa, a voice yelled out in the night,

      "Happy Thanksgiving to all to all, and to all a big fight!