"Time to make the donuts" makes me sad now

FYI: do not start up an exercise regime, from not doing anything for 2 years, by getting on an elliptical machine and having Rage Against the Machine’s Testify come on as your starting song. Monday morning, I got on the machine and Rage fired up and so did my pace and heart rate. Talk about getting in a target zone quickly. Damn! That being said, I must explain to you that now my legs are a bit sore. Damn you! Zach de la Rocha! Audioslave doesn’t hold a candle to RATM. They are good in their own right, but they just are not as strong overall. The social activism is one of the reasons that RATM was sooo powerful.

So I’m going to town on the elliptical due to my music choice and this guy gets on the machine directly to my right. So my “Strides per Minute” are at a whopping 190-ish due to the wicked base line that Rage is throwing at me, and since I have only been on the machine for 3 minutes my breathing not yet severely labored. This guy starts looking over at me and increasing his pace to match mine. Dude, this is not a race, ‘cause we ain’t going nowhere anyway. I have been “running” for over 3 minutes and I am still in the same spot I was when I started. This guy starts really going at it like this is a competition. When Rage goes off the Nano play list and Tool’s The Grudge comes on. (If you do not know, I have to exercise to angry music, happy just don’t get the juices flowing. Angry, angry music!) Now The Grudge is different than Testify in many ways, but the big difference that matters for this story is that the music builds in pace instead of coming out of the gates charging. Anyway… I slow down due to my new musical choice and the guy next to me kind of gets this smug look on his face…. But my pace is slowly increasing. Why can’t I go to the gym without having to deal with the über-competitive jerks?

Well, when I was at minute 25 this guy gets off of the machine next to me and Rage comes back on so my Strides per Minute rockets back up to about 190 again. It looked like he almost got back on the machine so he could “school” me again. Whatever. People acting like this is one of the reasons I stopped going in the first place. The other reasons boil down to my own sloth and inherent laziness.

I am not an expert at gym morays and values, but I think that competing with whomever you happen to be next to is not the best of actions. Jerk

Anyway… other than the soreness associated with a new workout, not much is going on here.

To recap:
Competitive jerks are annoying
The “Time to make the donuts.” has come and passed
R.I.P. Fred the baker, you will be missed
Man, my ass is sore now
Stupid Ass!
I have not been able to find a downloadable copy of Zach’s March of Death
Edit: Never mind just got it from a German site
Left-overs for dinner
Left-overs ain’t so bad when it is shrimp fettuccini
Mmm shrimp

Hey, Tubby, get off your lazy ass!

Nothing says “Hey, Tubby, get off your lazy ass” like getting a gym membership in your stocking for Christmas. It is the gift that keeps on giving. Wifey and her mother did mollify the whole sting of being called out for being out of shape by getting me an iPod Nano. That thing is wicked-slick, sleek and shiny. So yesterday I went and activated the gym membership and actually “worked out” for the first time in about 2 years. It felt good to be exercising, but I am paying for it now. Stupid exercise, getting in the way of my not doing stuff.

Actually, in all fairness to Wifey, she was getting me a gift that I was contemplating on my own. I have felt all out of sorts as of late, and I should really have been exercising more anyway.

So, on to the tales of mishaps and misfortune that marked this as the Christmas Eve from Hell.

We have a few family food traditions in our small but efficient family. The family consists of Wifey, Little Man, Mimma (Wifey’s mom), and me. That’s pretty much it. We have extended family, but never really interact with them. My parents are in Alabama and also not who we would choose to hang out with anyway. So it is pretty much a party of 4.

Anyway… the first of the family Christmas food traditions is the Christmas Eve meal of shrimp fettuccini. Our shimp fettuccini is basically shrimp in a pesto sauce over linguini, oddly enough. (Shrimp Linguini doesn’t sound nearly as nice as Shrimp Fettuccini. Originally, when it was just Wifey and Mimma, it started out as fettuccini and that is when it was named. I don’t write the songs, I just sing them.) Well, the process of cooking the shrimp involves 2 sticks of butter melted in the oven (Hey, why does SRH have to go to the gym?). Anyway, the kitchen started getting a little smokey, which was odd since the butter was in a pan and we had also baked a bunch earlier with no smoke at a much higher temp. Then it started getting REALLY smokey and I opened the oven to see butter dripping from the bottom of the pan. It seems the pan we were using had some defects in it that were not previously noticed. There were 2 pin prick sized holes in the pan that the heat and butter exploited to drip the glorious butter all over the base of the oven. Smoke ensued.

So we transferred the remaining butter to a different pan and I furiously dowsed the pool of smoking butter on the bottom of the oven with baking soda to stop the smoking process. The meal was eaten that night with 3 windows and 2 doors open with a fan blowing out. It was chilly and late, but we had more cooking to do on Christmas, so I had to clean the oven before Christmas Morn. FYI: butter + baking soda + high temperature = solid block of carbonized rock. I was scrapinng this carbonized baking soda/butter mixture off of the oven with a pizza stone scraper. I started at 10 that night and finished at 12:30 that night. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Alas and alack, that was not the only misfortune to befall the kitchen on Christmas Eve. The crosspiece of pvc pipe that goes from the garbage disposal to the drain broke that night as well. The joint where that pipe marries into the main sink drain got clogged with food, so I was attempting to clean that pipe out. Well, in the process of unfastening pipes and taking things apart, the end of that crosspiece broke (See, I am a brute, I do not need to exercise more), and that pretty much fucked the whole sink. So most of Christmas Eve, all of Christmas Day and the morning of the 26th we did not have a kitchen sink of which to speak. I went to Lowe’s yesterday and got all the pieces and wrested with the sink for an afternoon. I hate home repairs.

How was your holiday?

To recap:

K-Pop: “mmmmm sugar!”
Quoted for truth!
Hey, Tubby, get off your lazy ass!
iPod Nanos are really cool
Mine is black, so I can still be a ninja
Mmmm shrimp fettuccini
Christmas’s meal is prime rib
Mmmm prime rib
I got me some new kicks for Xmas

Hello, Moto
I love me some shoes
Caked on, furnace blasted, buttery baking soda is difficult to remove
It is going to be a short week this week
I need to rustle up some grub

Twas the Thursday before Christmas

T’was the Thursday before Christmas, when all through the cube
No work was accomplished by this bored blogging rube.
The papers were stacked haphazardly everywhere;
His desk needing cleaning, so did his chair.

The co-workers were lazing about in their seats,
While coffee induced jitters caused them to stare.
The mouse in my right hand, and the keyboard uncluttered,
I just settled in for a blog to be uttered.

When over by the water fountain arose such a clatter
I ambled over to the filing cabinets to ask, “What’s the matter?”
Turns out a co-worker had brought us some fudge,
And all the other co-workers were in a line that wouldn’t budge.

The lighting was humming and casting its bright glow
I decided to go back to the cube hoping blog words twould flow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a box full of doughnuts (I let out a cheer).

With a dozen to choose from, so yummy to see
I knew in a moment these were just for me.
More rapid than eagles, I tore open the box
And whistled approval and said a la voix
“A cruller! A cream-filled!
A cream horn! A spice cake!
With sprinkles! With glazing!
Jelly-filled! Yeast and yellow cake!
A full dozen doughnuts
All waiting for me
Now eat them up! Eat them up!
Eat them up all!”



Okay that’s all I got, I could go on, but I couldn’t think of how to bring in the Christmas Blogging Fairy, and the sasquatches (the Christmas Blogging Fairy’s helpers) into the poem succinctly and true to the original feel of the poem, and honestly, I did spend entirely too much time on this already. Frankly, I bored myself with it.

To recap:
I half-assed a parody poem
Yep, half-assed
Still too many things to get ready for the holiday
I need to get stocking stuffing materials for the wife
Wow, I just reread it, and it is really quite half-assed
Happy Holidays to all of you
Except for you… you know who you are

Dummy-Head

I started out thinking that I could get away with a simple, yet elegant “Mea Culpa” idea to apologize ("apologise" for the Queen’s English folk) about my errors dealing with the Comments portion of the page. Wifey completely nixed that idea and said, “’Mea Culpa’ doesn’t quite fit, try ‘Dummy-Head.’” It is quite true. I am, in fact, a Dummy-Head. You see, on Friday of last week, when I did the Orapred Information post, I changed some settings on Blogger of which I did not truly understand the ramifications. Comment Moderation was enabled, and I did not realize ("realise" for the Queen’s English folk) that Comment Moderation did not allow comments to be posted until they had been approved. I am truly a Dummy-Head. Here I was thinking that nobody liked me anymore, and it turns out I was a Dummy-Head. I was crying myself to sleep in my big fat pillow due to my lack of comment, when, truth be told, I was a Dummy-Head.

I have approved all the comments that were awaiting approval and I have answered each one of them diligently. I apologize (again, "apologise") about my Dummy-Headedness, and I will now endeavor (endeavour) to never make that silly mistake again.

Let me say, “Thank you all for your kind comments and inquiries as to the health of Little Man. He is doing much better now, and the Orapred seems to be through his system now.”


On to a follow up of Silly Notion # 43.

Grandma D and Grandpa R thought better of taking Little Man on the icy octogenarian road-trip. When I went to pick Little Man up from the furnace that Grandma D and Grandpa R call their condo (I swear, that the temperature always hovers around 90 ° F in that domicile [that is 32.22 ° C for you metric folk out there and 305.37 K for you physicists]), I mentioned that we, the parents, of little Man were not feeling too comfy about the road trip. She said that the more they thought about it, the more she felt that it wasn’t the greatest of ideas (ergo the title Silly Notion #43 moniker). They re-scheduled their road-trip until Friday sans Little Man.

And there was much rejoicing.

So I do not have to burn any of my precious PTO.

Again, there was much rejoicing.

To Recap
Me = Dummy-Head
Wifey no likey the “Mea Culpa”
I was not as lonely as I thought I was
It seems that Misery does, indeed, love company
Sloppy Joes for dinner
Oddly for lunch tomorrow as well
Mmmm sloppy Joes

Road Trippin

Okay now I have a headache. I was doing alright moments ago, but now I have a headache. “What garnered you this headache, pray tell?” you ask. Well, loyal reader, the surrogate grandparents of Little Man, the caregivers, if you will, have helped me amass this throbbing in my frontal lobe with Silly Notion #43. My grey matter aches since they wish to travel 2 hours away with Little Man 6 days after his ER visit. He just is not healthy enough for a road trip. He simply is not healthy enough to be 2 hours away from his established medical community. In fact, he is not yet recovered enough to merely not cough if he has been outside. It is freaking cold and dry outside, and his lungs want, nay, need warm and moist.

Wifey informed me of their plans this morning after she dropped off Little Man, but Silly Notion #43 serves no purpose for Little Man. I imagine he does not want to be cooped up in the car for 4 hours total to go to a place that does not have slides or swings. They want to visit Grandma D’s Mom, yes, Little Man is excitedly looking forward to a visit with an octogenarian. Who, at age 2.4, doesn’t want to spend half a day with and eighty-something year old woman?

Boy, my head is just a pounding away now. I think the Pine Marten might be back after his limited hiatus. I don’t think that Little Man is giving me nearly as many grey/gray hairs as Grandma D and Grandpa R.

To Recap:

Good lord my head hurts

Digging furiously to get out of my skull, damn you Marten!!!
I hate the smell of citrus fruits
They make my head hurt as well
Aretha, is there really a “freeway of love” and how does one “go a-ridin’” on it?
Hey, where’d all my commenters go?
What does sarcasm smell like?

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