If you don't shut up, I will shove that "hunny" where the sun don't shine, Pooh

Oh, goodness where to start. Well, firstly I will give a quick update on Little Man. I have too many friends who read this thing, not to give an update from the get go. Little Man is doing pretty well. The Orapred is coursing through his veins and he is absolutely beside himself. By that I mean he is vibrating at a high enough frequency so he actually appears to be in 2 places at once. The Picard Maneuver, if you will. Good Lord, I am a geek. Ah, Orapred , I have missed you so.

So onto today’s topic.

In the long list of things that I hate, one thing has reared its ugly head more recently than many of the other virulent hates that I have in my life. I hate people who drive drunk. I hate people who think they are funnier than they are. I hate many things, but one of the things that I hate with the fire of a thousand suns, almost more than the phantom snotter of our bathroom (but not quite), is the God-Awful voice that is inflicted upon my by the voice actor for Winnie the Pooh. It is worse than nails on the chalkboard for me. Nothing makes my spine revolt like hearing the Pooh incessantly jabber on about Christopher Robin., or his quaintly misspelled “hunny,” or about Piglet, or Tigger, or even if he were reading the telephone book. Just SHUT THE HELL UP POOH, NOBODY LIKES YOU!!!!! YOU THINK EEYORE’S YOUR FRIEND, DO YA? YOU THINK OWL LIKE BEING AROUND YOU? Ummm… anyway…

That voice, that scratchy, whiney, sandpaper voice, sends me into a murderous rage. It is a primal instinctual rage. A rage where I am attempting to make the voice stop by killing everything until it goes away. Luckily the voices in my head do not sound like that bear, or I would have silenced them long ago. FYI: the voices in my head tend to sound like Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker, freaky huh?


Anyway… I hope the mostly decomposed undead zombie corpse of A. A. Milne is slowly but sure making his way to Playhouse Disney’s production studios so he can eat the brains of whoever decided that back to back pooh shows is a good idea. That is the reason I re-animated him, I hope he is on mission, and not just eating brains in Cornwall. Anyway… Sure one of the shows is animated and the other is poorly puppeteered, but that is beside the point. The point is that the voice is one that no one should be exposed to for longer than 30 minutes at a time. I did mention murderous rage, correct? (Initially I mistyped “murderous” as “murderopus” which I can only think is an octopus with a mission.)

I cannot wait until Little Man wants to see some Winnie the Pooh piece of crap movie. Oh the rant he will hear. Maybe Wifey will take one for the team and see the movie with him while I curl up into the fetal position weeping and hoping never to hear Pooh’s voice again.

To recap:
Little Man is vibrating
I HATE Winnie the Pooh’s voice
I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns
It is not a cold hate, like what I have for the creators of Small Wonder
Oh, they will pay for their crimes against humanity
They will pay

Orapred Information

Okay, a rare Friday post for me, but I think it might be worth it.

Little Man is doing fine. We are on Orapred, yet again. Our Allergist is not happy about having to place Little Man on this steroid again in such a short time frame, but it is definitely what is necessary. We expect Little Man to be bouncing off the walls in 2 days time. Oh goody. If we have anymore crazy shots of him they will most definitely be posted. I do not want people to think I have anything personally against Orapred. To the contrary, actually. I have nothing but the highest regard for this medicine. It has definitely kept my little boy alive. It does its job, I just wish we didn’t need to employ its services too often.

As a public service (lofty sounding, I know) I have perma-linked the Drugs.com page on Orapred as well as the Drug Digest, and BioMarin pages. These were the most comprehensive and still authoritative sites I could find on this medicine. I will also be linking this page and my other Orapred posts for all to view at their leisure. It turns out that about 2 to 3 times a week I get a hit on this site from someone searching for Orapred side effects. I do not want to do them a disservice by solely having this site be a cache of anecdotal information about Orapred’s interaction with my little boy.

Here is the Drugs.com information
Here is the Drug Digest information
Here is the BioMarin information

Here are my previous posts about Orapred

Sleep Perchance to Dream
Hospital, Hospital, Jiggity Jig
Orapred
Disharmonic Convergence
Update on Wheezy McAsthma
Little Man vs. Insane Little Man

To recap:
Orapred is a very effective drug for my little boy
I wish we did not have to use it as much as we do

ER again

Sorry about the lack of post today, Little Man had another trip to the ER. It seems that sickness wasn't enough for him, he wanted to have some difficulty breathing as well. We are yet again, dealing with a child on Orapred. So at least we got that going for us.

To Recap:
Children's hospitals should have all the kids stations on their cable
And those stations should be donated by their cable provider
Wifey and I are rather tired of Little Man's chronic illness

Sick day

Little Man is sick today, so I am tending to him today. I will post something interesting tomorrow.

To Recap:
Little Man is sick
I am using PTO to watch him today
He is taking a nap
I will be doing all the prep work for dinner now
That does not entail finding a number for pizza delivery

Christmas Cards

Not much going on right now. I figured I would show you all the impending Christmas pics for the cards. Like I said earlier, I do not want this blog to just become a blog about my kid. I would like it, however, to still include blatantly kid related posts. I just want to write about other stuff as well. Today, since I am a rather boring individual, I will be focusing on my kid. Deal with it.

For the Christmas cards this year we have decided to print out 3 different and very distinct card variations. We will be sending out this smattering of cards to everyone as soon as we get them all printed out. Hopefully that will be tomorrow evening at latest. Without further ado the pictures:

Number 1.



The first picture is of our wonderful Little Man running full speed at the camera. It is, as they say, an action shot. Little Man is quite the energetic little cuss when it comes to running around and yelling “FREE, FREE, FREE!!!” especially at grocery stores.

Number 2.



The second picture is of Little Man helping us to decorate the tree. He is a helpful little cuss as well. I believe he has just taken off an ornament and put it on 4 times. Same branch, same ornament, 4 times.

Number 3.



The third picture is of our smiling little one. He is happy. “Why is he happy?” you ask, well, he has been shoveling homemade salsa into his face like there is no tomorrow. I believe at this moment he was on his third small bowl of the stuff. I swear he could eat his body weight in tomatoes, if we would let him. We try not to let him, but we also try not to let him run willy nilly through the grocery store yelling “FREE!” We try many things, but succeed at few. I had to digitally remaster this pic due to the vast amounts of cilantro on his chin and cheeks. I am a regular Photoshop wizard.

To Recap:
Something interesting needs to happen at work so I can talk about that
It has to be interesting, but not get me fired
Can someone please work on that?
My life is rather boring
Boring can be good
In this case, it is just boring
I promise I will have something more enjoyable to read tromorrow
Some of you may be seeing these pics soon
Most of you are seeing them now, actually
What I meant was that some of you will get hard copies from us, on our dime soon, with the cards
I am shutting up now

Free at last, Free at last

Two things to chat about today.

Firstly, good Lord my Mom is lazy!

So the last 2 times I have called my parents an odd thing has occurred. Mom has answered the phone and then she has 3-way called my dad. Mind you my parents do not live in a sprawling mega mansion in the posh areas of Birmingham, Alabama. My parents just moved to a 1-story ranch only 4 houses away from my childhood split-level. So, my parents in their need for a more simplified life due to their advanced ages of 62 and 61 (their words, not mine) decided that the stairs in the old house were too much to handle. They purchased this house so they would not have to use any stairs, because they feel that they are soooooo frikkin old. So, in this 1-story ranch without any stairs my mom feels it necessary to call my dad on a phone instead of walking the 50 feet (at most) to where he is and telling him to get on the phone. Or instead of raising her voice to a level that my dad can hear say something to the effect of “Our son’s on the phone!” She takes laziness to a new level. The issue is that she doesn’t want to get out of her chair.

This has always been an issue for her. While I was still living at home Mom would wrap a rubber band around the corded phone leaving the phone cord dangling 10 feet from the phone jack to her chair. People would have to step over the phone cord to get to the kitchen. That is a combination of both lazy and cheap. Lazy to have the phone sitting in your lap, and cheap to not have ponied up the $20 to get a cordless.

Secondly, Little Man is making us look bad at the local grocery store.

Okay it is bad enough that Little Man is running away from us in the grocery store, but the fact that he is yelling “Free! Free! Free!” makes it look like we never let him out of the house. I am not sure what word he is trying to say, but it comes out as “FREEE!” Both Wifey and I are wondering if it is supposed to be “three” or “tree” or something along those lines, but it sounds like “free,” and “free” sounds bad.

So early on in his walking days we let him out of the shopping cart. He hated sitting in the cart, and we want to be responsive to our child’s needs. We thought that letting him out so he could explore his world would be an okay thing, and we would just make sure he stayed near us. Mistakes were made. Lessons were learned. Ramifications are being dealt with. Let’s just say that it looks like Little Man will have to do his own grocery shopping now.

To recap:
Get off your lazy ass and tell dad I’m on the phone
“Free” of what, exactly, Mr. Little Man? Free of what?
Making Christmas cards today
If you don’t get one in the mail within the next week or so, the Postal Service clearly dropped the ball
No really, we mailed it
Happy B-Day, G-Money

Sweet, Sweet Yeti action

I have nothing to chat about today, yet again. There are tons of things going on in the world, but I have chosen not to talk about them. Hell, there are tons of things going on at my work, but since co-workers read this here blogarooney, I cannot comment on those things. Secrets abound in my workplace. It is a very secretive place. I have said too much already.

Anyway… it looks as if the white death will be descending upon us at any moment. Our very souls are in jeopardy due to the advancing line of death from above. It is coming! It is coming! Sweet mother of a vengeful God, it is coming! We are, according to the weathermen, expecting 14 feet of ice hurled by yetis from mountains of snow that are traveling in from the west. All of this snow and yeti action is to be accompanied by some wind that will make Sweet Baby Jesus cry. Just look at the radar, for crying out loud!



In summation, we are all going to die.

To recap:
White death is coming
It will involve yetis hurling things
I am just phoning it in today
Deal with it

Tis the season!

Christmas music time is upon us yet again. ‘Tis the season for all the crappy Christmas songs to be recycled over the airwaves. There are 2 songs in particular that ALWAYS get played this time of year that draw my attention, and a third that does not get the airtime it deserves. Of the 3 songs, 2 of them should be played and the other one should be shelved for all eternity never again to see the light of day or be aired whilst humans still roam the earth.

Maybe when Sol is about to go supernova we should let "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer," song number 1, play us into oblivion, but until that time, this song should not ever be aired. It was cute back in '84 when I was 10 but it seems to have lost its panache over the years. Elmo & Patsy have their own private room in Hell waiting for them just for this song alone. The song is basically a holiday carol telling the story of how Santa snuffed his mistress. The Santa I know doesn’t snuff out his own mistresses, he has the Easter Bunny do it. Nobody and I do mean NO body expects the rabbit. Yes, The Easter Bunny is much like the Spanish Inquisition, thank you for asking. I am just saying, don’t fuck with the Bunny. Santa was all like, “that woman is getting kinda lippy. I think she is gonna go to the press about our little tryst and OUR actual existence. DAMN YOU MISTLETOE!!!!!” and the Bunny was all like, “Consider it taken care of Mr. Kringle.” I think I have already said too much…

The second song that always garners my attention is the seasonal classic by Sir Bob Geldolf’s Band Aid, “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” Oddly, now the same could be asked of most the performers of the song. This happy-go-lucky anthem was created to drum up some money for African famine relief in Ethiopia in the year 1984 as well. Seems 1984 was a windfall year for Christmas tunes on the radio. Band Aid was made up of solely British performers, much to the chagrin of all the second tier US acts. Don’t get me wrong, there were some heavy hitters in there (Bono, Sting, David Bowie, and Paul McCartney to name a few), but the bulk of the people filling the risers were in minutes 10 through 14 of their fame as prescribed by Warhol. Most of the names on the roster have no regonizability at all. Come on, what song did Ultravox really light up the charts with anyway? And who is Dennis Thomas? I am pretty sure those riser-fillers are now wishing that they didn’t sign on for that as a charity gig. All I have to say is that tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you….

There is a third Christmas song that will actually get me to stop and listen whenever it comes on, but I seldom hear it in stores, on NPR, or on Little Man’s Laurie Berkner CD. That one is Run DMC’s “Christmas in Hollas.” Far and away the best “modern” carol to be created in the past 20 years. 1987 was a good year for Christmas music. Nothing else created in the past 20 years or so even comes close. Period.

To recap:
Easter is a great holiday and should be celebrated much more
Don’t fuck with the Bunny
I’m just sayin…
Sorry about the late post
Here’s a hint: When there are program coordinators in a room, don’t utter the words “only a program coordinator”
Use "merely"
Little Man hasn’t heard much in the way of Christmas music yet
Burl or Bing?
It was December 24th on Hollis Ave in the dark
When I see a man chilling with his dog in the park
I approached very slowly with my heart full of fear
Looked at his dog, oh my God, an ill reindeer
But then I was illin because the man had a beard
And a bag full of goodies, 12 o'clock had neared...

Nada

I do not want this blog to become one of those annoying blogs where all the author (yes, lofty to refer to oneself as an author when all one is doing is blogging, but what the hey) does is talk about the aforementioned author’s amazingly cute progeny. I think there is a balance that one must achieve. I feel that recently I have been focusing too much on how Little Man is doing , what he ate, how damn cute he is, etc… and not enough on how hippos are needing to die, and people with their footwear firmly ensconced upon their heads. To the non-parents out there, I apologize. To the parents out there, I am sure you all sympathize with this particular author’s plight of just wanting to focus on his child.

So, there it is. I am determined to write about non-kid related things.


Ummm….

Okay, I got nothing. I live a shallow empty life with no other interest than Little Man. He clearly has taken over most of my waking life. I watch Bear in the Big Blue House more than any other TV. I listen to Laurie Berkner more than I listen to NPR anymore. I truly got nothing. The only thing I really have is my Friday night World or Warcraft playing and that is sooooo amazingly geekerific that I shudder to mention it in such a public forum. My escape is TV, but I can’t even escape into TV with Little Man around, cause. Wifey can curl up with a good book while he tortures me with Teletubbies. Yes, I know I could read as well, but that is more effort than it is worth for me, most of the time.

To recap
I am a shell of a human
Little Man is the only interesting thing I got going on
He needs to sleep better
So I can sleep better
I've got as fever and the only prescription is MORE COWBELL!

Things you know

You know your wife really wants to get off the phone when she starts singing the lyrics from the Human League.

To recap:
A rare double post today
I'm only human
Of flesh and blood i'm made
I am just a man
Human
Born to make mistakes

Don't make me come back there!

It happened last night. It was bound to happen at some point and time. I scorn your pity, and I don’t want your sympathy. I will not take your judgment. You have no right to judge me. You were not there; you do not know what was like. It was a war, and people do terrible things in war. It felt necessary at the time. Looking back with fresh eyes and 20/20 hindsight, it was not necessary nor even effective. It would be one thing if the ends justified the means, but they didn’t. The means were just a heinous means to no end. Oh, where do I begin……


It was Thursday evening when I started feeling sick. Wifey had to take on the parental duties solo, and with an aching back. Wifey’s back was injured birthing Little Man, and has not truly recovered since then. Cold weather also tends to cause her back problems, and it has finally decided to become cold in Ohio. My illness and her back did not make a great confluence of parenting ability for the weekend. Mine was a sort of feverish malaise that lets you know that it will be a very long weekend, and not in a good way. The fever and chills broke sometime in the wee hours of Friday morning only to be replaced by the multiple repetitive and redundant forced evacuation of my bowels. This too subsided by Friday evening. All I had to survive off of was 4 quarts of Gatorade and air. By Last night my energy reserves were depleted. Bah, there is no point for excuses. What I did was beyond reproach. Ah, but back to the way things led up to this unfortunate event. Saturday was a mixed day of Christmas shopping and recovery. Unfortunately more shopping than recovery. I had half a sandwich and some yogurt as my sustenance for the day, but I was plagued with nausea due to that pittance of nourishment. By Saturday afternoon, Little Man was sick with the same ague that I had fostered 2 nights previous. He was miserable, and I was less than energetic in my care for him. Before you judge me on this score, it was not for lack of want, but for lack of ability and energy did I not parent my child as ably as I wished. Wifey had an evening event that she had to be at, so Little Man was left alone with his weak and weary father as his only means of support, survival and, more importantly, entertainment.

Luckily, it seems that Little Man was able to fend off this mysterious virus better than myself and determined to wake up at 5:15 on Sunday Morning for the breakfast of KING! Since Wifey had worked keeping him asleep through the night, it was left up to me to explain the problem with Burger King at 5:45. Sadly, his relatively youthful age of 2.35 has limited his ability to understand the workings of time. I tried explaining to him that Burger King was not open at 5:45 and that they would not be serving his favorite of hamburgers and onion rings for at least 4 more hours. His grasp of time did not allow him to understand this fact and he was woefully saddened. Saddened to the point of screaming for 20 minutes straight bat the door asking for the “King,” his salvation from the tyranny of Papa, in weaker and weaker cries of anguish. The screaming was being replaced by sobbing, and there was nothing I could do for it. Beside myself, I tried to think of any place open at 7:00 that would sell hamburgers or French fries that we knew were allergen free. After a brief foray at Mimma’s house we decided on Steak & Shake. That place is open 24 hours, and sure to have French fries on hand for Little Man.

We drove up to the closest Steak & Shake, and I inquired about food allergens. The friendly staff referred us to their web-site, which they did not have handy, and we decided to chance it. We ordered our meal and I greedily consumed my burger while Little Man worked over his French fries. I polished off Wifey’s unfinished meal as well. I was ravenous. My lack of eating all weekend had finally caught up with me. Unfortunately my hunger awoke at one of the greasiest nastiest lard ridden meals I had ever seen, much less eaten, but I was hungry and it was “food.” A decision to be regretted later, to be sure. Little Man went down for his nap early and got up early as well.

It was time for the bedtime ritual. We were getting ready to rock his little butt to sleep, when the event happened. Little Man and I had just changed the CD in the CD Player from They Might Be Giants’ Bed Bed Bed to his “go to sleep now” CD Streams of Light by Martin & Scott. He wanted to change the CD again. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “No.” He still wanted to change the CD. I said, “I am not saying ‘No’ for my exercise!” Oh, the horror! Oh, the humanity! I have truly become a parent! And a cliché one at best.

There you have it. My unforgivable sin: I have uttered a parentism. I might as well have said, “Because I said so!” or “Money doesn’t grow on trees,” or any other phrase that we all promised never to utter as parents. Wifey made fun of me mercilessly. Not because I said it, but because I said it with such earnest conviction. I meant it.

To Recap
Don’t make me turn this car around!
Steak & Shake = grease & lard
I’m not talking to hear my own voice!
Little Man is starting to be afraid of sleeping alone it seems
Don’t make me count to 3!
Wifey’s first parental remark was not a true parentism, but that story is hers to share
What part of "NO!" did you not understand!
I am still weak and hungry
I brought you into this world, and I can take you out!
I'll give you something to cry about!

Sleep: Round 2

So last night’s sleep situation was not as wildly successful as Tuesday evening. Little Man fell asleep after fighting like a chained demon listening to elevator music. Now, I am not exactly sure how strong a fight that actually is, but it does sound like a pretty good amount of fighting. Wifey and I were battling a demon in chains forced to listen to even schmaltzier versions of Celine Deon hits. It was a "Titanic" struggle to say the least. Get it? Celine Deon, "Titanic" struggle? I am hilarious. Anyway... Little Man finally called his cease fire around 10:30 pm. It was around 1:30 am that I woke up to find Little Man quietly playing on the floor next to our bed. It seemed like he had been up for a bit. This is actually a problem that we have had to deal with for a while. Little Man is sometimes insanely quiet. We have a monitor in his room, and we listen to it pretty diligently. The issue is that sometimes he is quiet like fog on a snowy morning. (How’s that for imagery?) There have been many occasions where he has been awake and playing quietly where we were not aware of his consciousness. That was a bit more problematic when he was more prone to falling off the bed instead of climbing down. Anyway… Back to the story at hand, we helped him clamber into bed and it took another hour and 40 minutes for him to get back to sleep. Not the most successful foray into the realm of sleep that Little Man has ever had.

We (Wifey and I, not the “Royal We” which would be myself and the realm) think that his lack of sleeping last night had something to do with his, err.. how shall we say, ummm… trumpet butt. He was one gassy little guy last night. He was letting farts rip that would make elephants weep, and those are some stank ass mammals. He was just ripping these gas attacks one after another. We are pretty sure he would have sleep longer had his insides not been roiling like the North Sea in winter. Again I am not sure if the North Sea is “roiling” in the winter time, but it really sounds like a good analogy.

Wifey said that he was still letting them rip this morning whilst eating his oatmeal. Poor little fella. Other than the discomfort of massive amounts of gas, he did not seem to be ill or anything. We think (again Wifey and I) that he might have been having so much gas distress due to having too much fats food in a short amount of time. You see, his caregivers did not feed him much on Tuesday, so when I picked him up from their house he was insanely hungry. He, therefore wanted, nay, needed the Regent of Ground Meat, the Regal Sandwich, the Burger King. He ate almost an entire hamburger from BK: not the 90’s shoe British Knights, but the flame-broiled goodness that they sell with Ketchup. As soon as we left the Burger King proper he started screaming “TACO!” at the top of his lungs. Where is my quiet little boy now, where!?!? So off to Taco Bell we went.

It turns out that even with his food allergies Little Man can have Taco Bell products if he has them “Fresco” style. “Fresco” style at Taco Bell means that they replace all the cheese, sour cream, guacamole, etc… with chopped tomatoes, onions, and cilantro. "Fresca" style however is where they pour a crappy-assed soft drink on your meal and say, “Deal with it, Tubby!” Honestly, I do not like the whole “Fresca” style. The Fresco style is tasty though. Anyway… back to the story at hand, he also ate ¾ of a taco that night. The following day, his Mimma (Wifey’s mom) took him to Burger King for lunch as well yesterday. That is part of her ritual with the litlle guy as well. He and Mim go to this kids museum thingy (a museum for kids, not a place where replicas of children are on display) and then she drags him away from the train-sets kicking and screaming (him, not her) to go eat at his favorite place, Burger King. It is ritual. I do not think we mentioned to her that he had BK the night before as well. Anyway… we surmise that this conjunction of crappy food and the vast amount of soft-drinks he consumed while eating said crappy food is what caused the nexus of odor and gas to swirl about in his intestines, thus leading him to not sleep well and effervesce continually through the evening.

So to summarize:
1. BK and a taco and a soft drink one evening
2. BK and a soft drink the following lunch
3. Some Papa’s soft drink at dinner time
Leads to

A night of gas that would make a rhino blush and asphyxiate a small cat.

Q.E.D.

To recap:
Smelly assed Little Man is still cute
Fresca is trying to make a come back
TaB is not
Mmmm Burger King and taco
It is amazing how much a parent talks about their child’s/children’s excretory system and excretory exploits
Fart jokes are always funny

To sleep, perchance to Dream

So Little Man slept in his Big Boy Bed all night. We were, quite frankly, surprised that he did not wake up in the middle of the night and join us in the family bed. We checked on him regularly, mainly because we are insanely over-protective. It seems that Little Man sleeps much like any other toddler that I have ever heard about. I mean, he sleeps everywhere on that bed. His head was on his pillow when I laid him down. At 11:00 he was half hanging off the bed. At midnight he was back on his pillow and his feet were against the side rail. At 4:00 his head was pointing down toward the footboard and his feet were on his pillow. At 5:30 when I got up for work, he was laying on his head and shoulders and knees with his little butt pointed straight up in the air. I guess original sleep orientation means nothing to him.

Wifey said that he awoke a bit confused, but otherwise none the worse for wear. She said that made some rustling noises around 7 this morning, so she went to check on him. He was awake and in the hallway. They went back to the family bed and watched some TV for 30 minutes before commencing the morning rituals of eating and getting dressed for the day. All in all, it sounds like it went rather well. This all makes pretty good sense though. Prior to the soy allergy kicking in, he was almost sleeping the entire night on his own in the crib. As I have lamented before the soy allergy ended all of that.

Tonight, I imagine that it will be like fighting a cornered tiger to get him to fall asleep. He was pretty good at fighting sleep, but I am pretty sure that he will be pulling out his big guns this evening. I cannot wait.

All in all my body feels better from the more restful sleep, but my soul is empty due to the vacated bed space of my little one. It is difficult and yet still exciting to see your little one growing up.

It has been absolutely insane here at work. Well, that makes it sound like I have had tons of productive work that has required my attention. That would be a bit of a fabrication. I have had a very little bit of work that has been consuming every ounce of my time. FYI: I thought about making a metric reference, bnut “every gram of my time” sounds idiotic. Anyway… I have been doing work for Asshat these past few days, and he is, well, an asshat.

Definition:

ass·hat: (ăs’·hăt), n Vulgar Slang, pl ass·hats

1. someone who wears their own gluteus maximus as headwear.
2. someone who has their own head up their proverbial ass

[Middle English asse, from Old English assa, perhaps of Celtic origin, ultimately from Latin asinus.]

He finally passed along edits to me for a meeting that happened at 1:30 this afternoon at 3:00 yesterday. What a jerk. Asshat! Asshat! Asshat! So I have been going nonstop for a good long bit now. If you excuse me, I am going to rest for a bit.

To recap:
Little Man slept in his own bed until 7 this morning
I have had very little time to even tie my shoes
That’s why my shoes have a buckle
Not like the Pilgrims’ buckle shoes
Those are just plain silly

Pine Marten in the House

Why can’t the weather make up its damn mind? I’m talking to you Mother Nature. Choose a course and stay with it for a while. I am tired of the 65°+ degrees in November (18.33° C for my metric friends and 291.4833 K for the physicists in the room). If I wanted this kind of crappy weather for a winter, I would never have left Alabama. I mean come on we had a high of 28° F 4 days ago (-2.22° C for my metric friends and 270.9278 K for the physicists in the room).

My head cannot take this shit. Since the temperature spiked back up into the balmy 60’s my head has been throbbing like I just read something by L. Ron Hubbard. I am fine with some variation in the weather, but this wild shifting crap is slowly killing my poor little head.

Secondly, could we ratchet back the wind just a bit? My Jetta involuntarily changed lanes yesterday on the way home from work. I am not saying that a Jetta is a car with the most amazing aerodynamics, but sweet mother of mercy, it is a fairly low to the ground sedan. I am glad I no longer drive and Isuzu Trooper. That piece of crap was a frikkin’ sail in the wind.

Let me be clear for all of you dedicated readers out there (I think there might be 4 of you), I do not mind weather in the 60’s or weather in the 20’s, I just feel there should be more transition between those temperatures than just my paltry 15 minute commute to work. Did I mention that my head hurts? I swear to God something is trying to claw its way out of my cranium through my forehead. There are easier ways, Thing-in-my-Head. There are easier ways….

It helps if I close my eyes and breathe deeply and cease conscious thought, so, at least I got that going for me. Actually if I could just turn off the light and close my eyes, the blinding pain in my head would go away. Sure I would be sleeping, but that is just a plus. As God as my witness, there is some heavy construction occurring on my brain cavity, and none of it has to do with me getting any smarter.

On a side note: tonight we are going to attempt to have Little Man sleep in the Big Boy Bed. It is time. Wifey and I are a bit odd in our choice of bed size. We have defied the common tradition and only sleep in a full sized bed. No queen sized for us. We do not have a California king sized bed. We have a measly full-sized bed.

The full sized bed has suited our purpose very well prior to the invasion of Little Man. For the most part it has worked fairly well, even with Little Man, but recently, he seems to have gotten larger. This has resulted in my not being able to have both shoulders on the bed at the same time for about 4 months. This lack of being able to square my shoulders has caused all manner of aches and pain. Yesterday, I was not able to move my right elbow without it hurting until about 3 in the afternoon. I also have been having some pain shooting down my left leg, oddly enough where the sciatic nerve tends to run. I think this pain has a direct link to my poor sleeping conditions as well.

In the past few weeks, I have been getting awakened by Little Man placing his knee or elbow or foot forcibly into the small of my back. It is time for him to be on his own for at least part of the night. We are not expecting him to leave the family bed cold turkey, but we should at least get a few hours of non-contorted sleep. At least I am hoping.

To Recap:
The Pine Marten in my head is tired of being cooped up

It has decided that jack-hammering a hole in my forehead is the best route of escape
L. Ron Hubbard is a nutcase
Or is it actually a Thetan in my head?
Maybe he was on to something?
Damn you Xenu, Damn you to Hell!
Big Boy Bed, meet Little Man
Little Man, meet Big Boy Bed

Fowl Holiday 05

Fowl Holiday 05 has come and went. There is a dearth of stories associated with this holiday meal. Turns out that with so many people there that my parental units still felt like they needed to impress, they were pretty innocuous the whole visit. I really wish there were more stuff to chat about, but the parents were very well behaved. It seems that when my best friend from high school, my mom-in-law, and new sister-in-law are in the house, my parents wish to keep up the façade that they are “nice” people.

Okay, the good people that I work with (not those bad ones, you bastards can rot in Hell!!) have been having some questions about the official stance I have taken on my Parents about them being “good people” not “nice people.” I will endeavor today to explain this stance in a bit more detail.

My parents are good people not nice people (thesis statement). In this I mean, they are not felons, they pay their taxes, they go to church, and they do all the things that people do to stay in good standing with society at large. Dad is involved with his city government’s emergency preparedness and emergency response. He is active in the Boy Scout Troop of my brother’s and my youths. He is a member of the church chancellery choir. Mom teaches piano lessons. She is a substitute music teacher. She is the director of the church’s hand-bell choir. She is also a member of the church’s chancellery choir. These two are the typical sub-urbanites.

The problem is that they are not nice people. By this I mean that they are very judgmental. They tend to discredit anything they do not understand. They are, in the simplest terms, unhappy. They are unhappy because they cannot accept their faults. They lash out due to this unhappiness and become, oh, how shall I say, sanctimonious jerks. They are very difficult to be around, because of the arrogance they use to hide their insecurities. Mom & Dad are terribly afraid that people will find out that they are not perfect. I know it is surprising that they are not perfect, like everyone else is.

A few examples of their judgmental sides. 1. If someone buys a better car than my parents have, then those people care too much about their cars. 2. If someone buys a larger/nicer house than my parents have, then those people are snooty fro trying to live in a better neighborhood. 3. If someone buys themselves a toothbrush instead of using the one that the dentist gave them, then that person is really bad with money. 4. If someone were to place their personal priorities differently than my parents, then those people are idiots.
If someone goes on a vacation that does not involve visiting family, those people don’t love their family (not a personal experience... yet, but they do not know about our drive to Philadelphia)

They are also not generous people. My parents are not the people who wish others a good morning. At Halloween, when I was growing up, they would “let” kids get a handful of pennies from a ceramic pumpkin. Sure the opening to the pumpkin kept kids from getting more than 15 cents. I am surprised our house was not egged more often. Lets be clear, this not merely a money thing, it is a spiritual and intellectual lack of generosity as well.

I say this knowing that they did the absolute best they could raising my brother and I with the skills that they had on hand. If they had more skills at the time, they would have used them, because they did and do love me. Their problem lies with not being able to accept their imperfections. Ergo, they are unhappy judgmental jerks.

That being said, Little Man was the hit of the holiday. He got along swimmingly with G-Money. By the end of the holiday weekend G-Money was singing and doing a little bit of dancing with Little Man. All of you who know G-Money, just marvel at the amazing Little Man’s powers. The trips to and from Cincinnati were boring as all get out .

To recap: Menu Items in blue
Nothing really happened worth commenting on or remembering for that matter
Turkey
I am sure there are some depressed folks out there in cyber-land due to the relative blandness of my holiday
Ham
We are moving Little Man to the Big Boy Bed this week
Stuffing from the bird
It looks like it could be a heart-warming success (he seems to like the bed in his room)
Slow Cooker Stuffing (mushroom and basil)
G-Money and I moved the computer from the attic into the 3rd bedroom
Side Stuffing (sausage stuffing)
It is much warmer in the 3rd bedroom than in the attic
Fat back green beans
Green beans need… nay, deserve to be served with bacon
Corn
Hoping to have more funny stories as the week progresses
Bread
Not much else to chat about… maybe tomorrow
Mashed potatoes
It was a good holiday
Pecan Pie
Little Man should be napping in his Big Boy Bed this afternoon
Pumpkin Pie
I am getting fat… ter
Pumpkin spice cupcakes
I have decided that I really do not like roast turkey all that much
But I do love me some whipped cream

Thanks?!?!

So what am I thankful for? At the moment the usuals pop up. I have a good life, My kid is a sweet and loving little guy, and I have the absolute best wife in the world. Those answers are kind of prescribed. They are too easy, if you will. So what and I really thankful for.

I am thankful for:

The fact that Wifey doesn’t have scaley feet: would make sleeping next to her much less appealing

Little Man is not older than 2.3333 yet: every age seems to be the perfect age
Mountain Dew: mmmmm

Vanilla Bean Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory: mmmmm mmmmm

The color green: it is like blue with some yellow

The cheer that the Tuskan Raider does after wholluping Luke in Star Wars: A New Hope:

“Urt…. Urt urt urt urt!” pump that gaffi stick up and down, you cold-cocked a farm boy! Boo-yah

The Lord of the Rings books and movies: both finely crafted and are genre defining

Cake: the band with the wicked base line

Vanilla cake with white frosting: just tasty

G-Money, B-Dawg, and K-Pop for the Friday evening WoW: how else do I get my quilboar killing on

Back scratchers: for the hard to reach places

Angry Kitty: God, I wish I could find this .gif image it is all animated and shooty (if anyone has it please leave a comment on the blog)

That the voices in my head mainly chat about Mountain Dew and Vanilla Bean Cheesecake: the constant kill this person, kill that person got tiresome.

The theme music from MacGyver: I would not be able to do improvisational engineering without it

The theme music from the A-Team: oddly, other than the MacGyver Theme music, this theme music replaces all other 80/90’s action shows theme music in my head

That more things do not come coconut flavored: yeeee-uck

My prehensile tail: just checking to see if you are actually reading this

Fowl Holiday 05’ is almost here and gone: darn family

That I hain’t in Alabamer no mo: reason is evident

Mashed potatoes are so yummy: mmmmmm yet again

Wool socks: don’t ask

Wednesday lunches: where else can one talk about fornicating with a dead horse without seeming out of place

My parental units aren’t getting here until noon tomorrow

My parental units are going back tomorrow evening

There is other stuff, but I am tired of writing.

One thing of note: Growing up in ‘Bama when we were in music class during the Thanksgiving Season when we had to sing that dreaded "Over the River and Through the Woods" song. None of us understood why that person was traveling for Thanksgiving Dinner through snow. It might snow in January, but not much. Definitely wouldn’t snow in November, that would be just plain impossible. FYI: It is snowing really steadily here today.

To recap:
A prehensile tale would be awesome
I gots to pick up G-Money in Cinci tonight
½ day till Fowl Holiday ‘05
MMMMM stuffing
Have a safe and happy holiday for those of you in the US
All you other people, enjoy yourselves anyway
The Scientific symbol for the "Em" is \oo/
.... 'cause there is an "em" in "Hook'em Horns"

Falling Flat

So on the way to work today a few things happened. Number 1 and most importantly, last night the right front tire decided it had seen enough. It was all, “I’ve had it, I will see you guys in Hell!” To which it promptly poked a hole in itself and slowly deflated on my ride into work. Now this would not have been too much of a problem if any of the 4 gas stations that I stopped at on the way in had their air pumps up and working.

Sunoco: Hand written sign taped over the machine “Out of order”

Citgo: Coin slot jammed with what could only be determined to be wooden skewers

Kroger: NO air pump, but it had the sign for an air pump, and a place for one to be mounted (not like that you sick freaks)

BP: Someone had cut the air hose itself, there was only about a 2 foot length of hose dangling in the cold cold wind

So, this would not have been too much of a deal if it had just been yours truly in the car all by his lonesome. Alas and alack it was not just me, it was me and a 30 pound ball of energy that goes by the name of (on this blog) Little Man.

So there I was traversing around the northwestern outskirts of Columbus with a bum tire and Laurie Berkner playing over the car stereo system for Little Man who was strapped in his seat. Each place we went to that had an un-working or non-existent air hose caused a few more utterances of expletives, much to Little Man’s glee. By the BP station he was clapping along with my tirade of foul vitriol, and giggling at the cacophonous litany of curses I was flinging with wild abandon. Laurie Berkner was, oddly enough, singing “The Biggest Monster” at that time. How apropos. It was quite the juxtaposition of sounds. My voice stringing together a… um... string of curses, Laurie’s mellifluous voice singing sweetly, and Little Man’s giggling, all in one car.

Luckily across the street from that particular BP station with the cut air hose is a Firestone Repair Center. So I limped my car across the street to their parking lot and unstrapped the 30 pound giggle box that is my son. We went in and got the car on their schedule and then walked right out of the store to walk over to his care givers. They only live about a half mile away from the Firestone. During the slow promenade from the tire store to the caregivers, Little Man wanted nothing to do with him actually walking. So I carried the struggling mass that is my child. Then I walked from their house to my work.

$250 later and now I have 2 new tires and a freshly aligned car for my driving pleasure. So that was my morning, how are you guys doing out there?

To Recap:
My 15 minute commute lasted from 8:30 to 9:15 today
50 dollars a map? On what planet?
At least it did not happen while I was traveling to pick up G-Money tomorrow in Cinci
“Him and her ask so many questions!!!”
Shout out to Seth’s mama: “Don’t let fuckers get you down!”
So what are we doing tomorrow, Brain?
Amazon.com calls Laurie Berkner the Ani DiFranco of kids' music, no wonder Wifey likes her

Impending Doom

House cleaning is a bitch. This is especially true when you have a 2.25 year old undoing what you have just done. If one of us puts it away, Little Man gets it out. It is a endless cycle of cleaning and re-cleaning. Ah, but c’est la vie.

So it is only 3.5 days until the impending doom that is Fowl Holiday ’05. In those short days we need to clean the house and make sure we have seating available for all the myriad of guests who will be coming to Casa del SRH. At least this year it will not be a “Very Geriatric Thanksgiving.” It really was like a special episode of Blossom. There was something comical about last year though… one fo the participants was suffereing with some of the later stages of Alzhiemer's and another had just lost her husband. So the conversation would go something like this.

Alzhiemer's Patient: So [Wifey's Mom]* whatever happened to that nice gentleman that lived next door to you.

[Wifey's Mom]: He passed away just this October.

Rose (wife of recently deceased man): **cry cry cry**

5 minutes later...

Alzhiemer's Patient: So [Wifey's Mom] whatever happened to that nice gentleman that lived next door to you.

[Wifey's Mom]: He passed away just this October.

Rose (wife of recently deceased man): **cry cry cry**

At first it was kind of sad, but after time 15 it was kind of funny in a barbaric way. You know, how David Letterman used to bring the funny.

This year it should be much livelier.

I have a confession to make. My filter is eroding really really quick-like, I am finding it harder and harder to choke back my scathing commentary. It is something that seems to delight some of the co-workers, but could cause some serious trouble with the family of origin come Thursday. You see, I have tons of material to work with here. (note: all issues with family have been exaggerated for comedic effect)

First and foremost are my parents. Mom is both cheap and (how shall I say…) low-energy. Due to her penny pinching, even her brothers refer to her as Frugal [Mom’s Name]*. This woman tries to re-use everything. If it was a container, it can and should be used again. Remember way back when Lean Cuisine entrees came on a microwave safe plate with a plastic lid? Way back in the late 80’s, remember those? Well, she still uses them. It doesn’t matter that they are cracked and broken, they were free GOD DAMMIT!!!! FREEE!!! Well kinda free… She is also too ummm… low-energy to do actual crossword puzzles. You see, they take too much thinking. She has book upon book upon book of “Fill-Ins.” These puzzles are the ones that have the same look of a crossword layout with across and down, but instead of clues to figure out the words that fill in the spaces, it has a random listing of across words and down words that you fit into the boxes. It is like remedial crosswords.

Second is my Dad. Dad is a tad bit on the controlling side as well as dull as a stone. He wants it his way and only his way. Even if his way doesn’t work, that is how he wants it. His conversation also tends to revolve around the weather channel too much as well. Sweet mother of God! He could watch that channel 24 hours a day even if it is only on a 30 minute loop. After about 30 minutes of talking, my dad will ask about weather issues because he is out of material.

Third is my brother. This is a person who has been kicked out of the active armed forces 4 times, oh wait 5 I forgot the Air Force discharge. Lets see, he was booted from the Air Force once, and the Navy 4 times, but he is now a full-time reservist and about to move back to Virginia Beach. It is sad when the military is dredging that particular barrel over and over and over. One would think that the military would know that just a warm body will not hack it.

Fourth is the sister-in-law. She is a deer caught in headlights. She pretty much just married into the fam, and did not realize what she was getting herself into. Poor Poor girl.

With my filter going away and my relatives coming to town there is a high probability for hijinks to ensue.

To recap:

Little Man is the anti-cleaning agent
Fowl Holiday ’05 is coming
My parents are coming
My brother is coming
My neglected nephews are coming
I can’t help but dwell on the positive
Boy, I cannot think of anything esoteric to put in here today

* Name with-held to protect MY identity

I Think She Got 2nd, Some Other Kid was Just Freakin' out on the Dance Floor

So, Little Man pants’d Wifey at the Library last night. It was hilarious. He then attempted to pants me. I had on a belt, and now I think Wifey has seen the error of her yoga pants ways.

See we were at the local library’s Family Story Time. This is an event that occurs pretty much every week. We do not go so much though. It happens at 7 at night on Wednesdays, and with Little Man’s breathing treatment and bath, a 7 o’clock event is sometimes a bit on the late side for a tired and cranky Little Man. Anyway… we were actually at the Family Story Time last night and Little Man was running around like he was insane in the membrane, insane in the brain. Let me define “running around.” “Running around” in this instance was Little Man sobbing on my lap because we were making him go to Family Story Time. It took him about 15 minutes to calm down and think about interacting with the other kids there. Mainly it took a song with an inordinate amount of jumping to take place. Let’s just say, “He likes the jumping.”

So the next to last song of the Family Story Time is the “Silly Dance Contest.” This is a song done by some nameless shmuck that I am sure I could find out with just a little bit of Internet digging if I cared. Alas and alack, I care not. So the “Silly Dance Contest” is on and Little Man is shaking his money maker. His groove thing is moving, but now he wants to take it up a level. Taking it up a level, I guess, requires a dance partner. His momma would have to do. He reaches over to Wifey grabs both hips and attempts to pull himself up. He did not ascend the sheer cliff of Wifey as much as pants her.

Wifey lets out a startled yelp as her trousers were traveling floorward, and Little Man is just grinning and shaking his body like he just dont care; i said to, be a freakazoid if you dare … Anyway…Since his momma was not participating in the whole dancing thing, he turned his attention to ascending Mt. SRH. My belt kept my pants on, while the little one was climbing me and I was giggling at Wifey’s misfortune. So the “Silly Dance Contest” song ended and everyone started gathering their things together. Turns out Wifey’s things were her sense of self-worth and dignity. As far as a “Silly Dance Contest” can go, I think she had to at least have placed.

On a side note: I am the MacGyver of mouse traps. It seems that an old Cottonelle bag, some Aveeno Oatmeal Bath and a dirty diaper is an effective impromptu mousetrap. If I had to use duck tape and a Swiss Army knife, I am sure the theme music would have been playing in the background.

To recap
People at the library were treated to Wifey’s undies
They were clean at least
We tagged one mouse last night
Little Man thinks that a silly dance involves his momma’s pants hitting the floor
So do I
For those of you who remember the show, it was never a good thing to be MacGyver’s friend
This post was brought to you by Cypress Hill’s “Insane in the Membrane,” Midnight Star’s “Freakazoid,” and the number 7

Mus musculus

Okay, so I was not hallucinating when I was peeing Friday afternoon. I did see a mouse run across the floor. I prudently mentioned my sighting of the rodent to Wifey that evening when she got home, and we assured her that the mouse is an affliction upon our house due to the now lack of cats or anything cat smelling. Last night the rodent made itself known to Wifey in a more personal manner. While she was getting bedtime ritual stuff together for Little Man the mouse decided to show himself to Wifey. That was not a wise maneuver on the mousse part.

Wifey handled the mouse sighting very well. There was no screaming or histrionics. There was no running for help or standing on a chair. She merely talked to Little Man in very soothing tones about how they were going to leave that room. Later she confronted me about said mouse and how it was not allowed to be in her house anymore. I sagely agreed. So now I have a mandate to expulse the rodentia from our happy little home.

The odd thing about this rodent is that we have not really found any signs of its existence other than seeing the darn thing. Most other times I have been places that have a rodent problem there have been signs of such, droppings, gnawed up stuff, etc… That is not the case here, so far. In fact had we both not seen the rodent, I do not think that we would know that we had a mousish problem. So this weekend we are heading to the hardware store to get all things anti-mousish. Say good bye stupid mouse.

Good Bye stupid mouse!

Rest assured we will attempt to get rid of this mouse in the most humane way possible. So all of you that were going to call the animal protection league and PETA on me, don’t bother.

Wifey seems to be getting sick again. We were hoping that she was getting better, and for a bit she was. Personally I think she is keeping herself seeming a bit sick so she can call upon the illness when needed. That time would most likely be when my parents were around. Let’s get this straight, Wifey, I am onto you and your not-wanting-to-deal-with-my-parents-ways.

To recap:
There is a mouse in the house
It will not be there long
Wifey is ill
Come Fowl Holiday ’05 she better not be
On Belay!
Belay on!
I hate it when people finish sentences for me
Especially if they finish them incorrectly