Buck Double is Big Trouble

For Christmas my grandma gave us a gift certificate at Wingers or, as I like to call it, Wieners.  The wife has never really been a huge fan of Wieners, but I’m easy and will take what I can get, especially if it’s free.  I happen to enjoy Wieners and it’s fun to say Wieners, so it was definitely a win-win for me.  Since the kids are out of school on Christmas break things get a little crazy at home.  Knowing the wife would be dying to get out of the house I thought last night would be the perfect opportunity to get some Wieners, even if we had to take the kids with us.

Before I continue it’s important for you to receive a little background on exactly what it’s like going out to dinner with our six kids.  Remember back in the day when you’d go to a restaurant and behind the counter they’d have a list of people not to receive checks from because they bounce?  Well, there’s a Mongolian BBQ restaurant in southern Utah with a picture of my family behind the counter identifying us as Undesirable Number 1, officially banning us from stepping foot on their property.   It was there a few years ago when Lunchmeat decided to have a meltdown, throw his red punch onto the floor, and be dragged out by his fuming father to go for a little ride in the car while the rest of the family finished dinner.  The wife had a look of shocked relief when the two of us returned alive.  Unfortunately, Lunchmeat isn’t the only one who behaves this way.  Once, I was grazed in the neck by a butter knife that landed on the table behind us right in the middle of another family’s dinner. 

Over the years, and through very painful experience, I have learned how to successfully survive a family dining experience.  Every child can be good for a certain amount of time.  The trick is to know the limit and to never reach that point.  For example, Lunchmeat’s limit is 22 minutes and 17 seconds.  At 22:18 something inside him snaps, forcing him to stand up and start wandering the restaurant.  Buck Double, on the other hand, has a much shorter limit of 13 minutes and 45 seconds.  As long as we arrive, eat and leave before those limits, we can usually leave the restaurant without anyone in tears.

How was I to know that last night would be the busiest Wieners has been since the chicken wing rush of ’93?  It took 11 minutes and 55 seconds for us to be seated so, knowing I’d have to improvise, I pointed out the basketball game on TV to Buck Double and let him steal his sister’s lemonade.  This strategy, nevertheless, proved fruitless as he lost control at exactly 13 minutes and 45 seconds.  Lunchmeat’s time expired as well before we had even received our food.  I distinctly remember telling him, “If you don’t stop bouncing on your seat you are going to get it.  What you’re going to get I don’t even know yet, but it’s going to make you cry.”  Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy Wieners quite as much as I was hoping I would last night.  Next time you are there, check behind the counter because you might just see my family picture.

Magic Happens

This all started when, after a win, former BYU receiver Austin Collie said, "When you're doing what's right on and off the field, I think the Lord steps in and plays a part; magic happens.”  This obviously infuriated University of Utah fans(don't get me started on how hyper-sensitive they are).  Anyway, shortly after Utah beat BYU this year, this poster came out.

After Utah was dismantled by Boise State in the Las Vegas bowl I couldn't help myself so I made the following posters.  Yes, I realize this is completely unoriginal and my photoshop skills are incorrigible but it's not my fault I have absolutely no artistic abilities.  I think you get the point anyway.

My Wife is the BEST!

I wanted to take a moment and thank my beautiful, wonderful, amazing wife for her support and superb cleaning abilities.  She really does put up with a lot and always with a smile on her face.  Thanks, wife!

Meltdowns

If there's one thing everyone knows about me, it's that I love to shop.  There is nothing more thrilling to me than finding a great deal on a trendy article of clothing.  Wait a minute, I temporarily had myself confused with my good friend down the street  (you know who you are Mr. Honey-I-Bought-You-This-Cute-Pencil Skirt).  This is a manly man's blog and there will be no love of shopping professed here.  Just think of me as the former drill seargant turned therapist in the Geico commercial and you'll understand my nature, you Jack Wagons. 

Anyway, the wife and I went Christmas shopping tonight.  One of the only ways for me to find this legalized form of spousal torture bearable is to watch other peoples' children have public meltdowns in the middle of the store.  I find this so enjoyable because far too often I have been the parent dealing with a child in full meltdown mode. Besides, seeing other peoples' problems always makes us feel better about ourselves, right? The most important thing to remember when dealing with a child having a meltdown is to stop it before they get into a groove.  Once the meltdown is rolling it is impossible to stop until you get back in the car and threaten punishments that would surely warrant a call to DCFS if other shoppers were to hear.

Both the wife and her mother have a specific way of dealing with a meltdown once it starts....distraction.  They immediately try to find something funny, shocking or scary to point out to the child, hoping to distract the child and stop the meltdown before it starts.  Sometimes Buck Double (only the most loyal of readers will remember how my 1 1/2 year old son got this name) has a meltdown when it's bed time.  The other night he started into a meltdown and, knowing I had to act quickly, I gave myself completely to nature and let my fatherly instincts take over.  Because he still relies on his mother as a supplement to candy, popcorn and anything else he happens to find on the floor, nature told me just what to do.  I lied him in my arms in just the right position, lifted my shirt and offered to feed him.  Although my bottle is full and ample, he knew something wasn't right and looked up at me as if to ask, "dad, what is wrong with you?"  Maybe it was instincts or maybe it was my furry bottle, but something told him this wasn't how God intended him to be nourished.  Perhaps I will never know the real reason, but one thing I know is that he was definitely distracted and the meltdown was avoided.

There is No Joy

As a continuation to yesterday's post, last night we had to have a family meeting to discuss the incessant fighting in our home.  As we sat in the living room talking about it, I noticed Lunchmeat was quietly walking around the Christmas tree removing ornaments.  Upon closer inspection I noticed that he was only taking down the ornaments that say "Joy."  When I asked him what he was doing he replied, "I'm taking down the Joy ornaments because there is no joy here."

Snowballs and Neighbors

Nelly recently suggested that for Christmas this year I should get a swear jar.  In case this is a new concept, each time I swear I would have to deposit money in the swear jar to be saved up for a family treat.  Apparently she thinks my language is unacceptable but, as usual, I retaliated by saying if they'd just clean up after themselves every once in a while, do their homework and not fight with each other I wouldn't have any reason to swear.  Sometimes I feel a bit guilty for being mean to the kids, no matter how much they are asking for it.  As an example, I used to have a disciplinary tool called "The Gunner's Daughter."  The Gunner's Daughter was a wooden spoon with it's name on the handle and "Kiss The Gunner's Daughter" on the end.  This is a reference to a battle ship where, as a punishment for doing something wrong, the sailors would have to give the Gunner's Daughter a kiss.  She was obviously not the most attractive girl in the world so it was an extreme punishment to have to kiss her.  The difference between the original Gunner's Daughter and mine is that mine is the one who would do the kissing, usually on top of the head.  I'm not exactly sure how, but The Gunner's Daughter mysteriously disappeared long ago.  Now that I think of it, I believe it's time to welcome a new Gunner's Daughter in my house.

Yesterday something happened that made me feel much better about how I treat the little psychos.  Yesterday an old friend asked if  some of my kids wanted to go sleigh riding with their family at the golf course.  When they came home sooner than I expected, I knew something must have happened and couldn't wait to hear the story.  According to my sources, the friend's son hit his unsuspecting dad in the face with a snowball when he wasn't looking.  Obviously upset, he expressed his displeasure by yelling, "Oh really, Dip$hit?  Get your @$$ down here."  When the son declined, he insisted, "No, really, get your @$$ down here."  Laughing hysterically, the son walked down the hill to his dad who promptly grabbed him and threw him down the hill.  Needless to say, the laughing ceased immediately and tears followed.

I love stories like this because they remind me that even the best dads get pushed over the edge by their children from time to time. As a true journalist, I am bound by the ethics of my profession never to reveal the identity of those mentioned in this blog, so don't even ask.

P.S.  Thank you Alyce for dedicating the picture from your vacation of the girl in her bikini to me.  That literally made me laugh out loud.

Oh, hi. Remember me?

Things have been pretty crazy at the Burrow so I haven't had much time to write.  Since my inbox has been flooded with requests/demands/pleas for a new post I suppose I better write SOMETHING to keep the mobs at bay. As if, haha. 

Today I think I'll tell you all about my Thanksgiving weekend.  It all started when I decided to take the children sleigh riding on Thursday morning.  Hahahaha, gotcha.  You thought I sold out and became a traditional blogger.  No, today I'm going to tell you some of the funny things people have said to/around me recently.

1.  I challenged one of my kids to a game of foosball and instead of saying, "Prepare to feel my wrath" he said, "Prepare to feel my rash."

2.  An adult neighbor asked the wife if we were nervous our children would fall in love with each other since some of them are adopted.

3.  A coworker actually said that HP7.1 was boring.  For all you muggles that means Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1.  I have heard the term HP7 before but I though the .1 was a nice addition if I do say so myself.

4.  Speaking of Harry Potter and ridiculous things people say, I have to add all of the people who were so offended by the "Harry and Hermione makeout scene" before they even saw it. 

I realize that specific part wasn't in the book but it really expounded Ron's character to a new level, demonstrating the depth of his love for Hermione as never before seen while showing the deep seeded insecurity and jealousy he feels having Harry as his best friend.  Growing up the 5th of six children in a slightly poor family has left Ron feeling forgotten and terribly ordinary, never feeling special, accomplished or deserving of his true love.  Hints of these feelings have been presented in pervious books, but it took the horcrux around his neck to fully reveal his deepest love, insecurity and fear.  Eh, who am I kidding?  I just liked it because Hermione is cute.

Never Miss a Month

A few weeks ago I explained how, in our church, the men are assigned to be Home Teachers.  The women have the same responsibility only they are called Visiting Teachers.  On Saturday we had an open house at my grandmother's church to celebrate her 80th birthday.  The open house was held in the room where the women have their class.  Above the blackboard was a simple sign that said "Never Miss a Month," a reminder for the women to complete their Visiting Teaching each month.

When I saw the sign I told the wife that I was going to steal the sign and mount it to the headboard on our bed.  Occassionally a reminder is needed there too to never miss a month.  She hasn't spoken to me since.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

We all know that sometimes kids can unintentionally say the most insulting, hilarious comments ever.  In the past few days a couple of the neighbor kids have given me some real gems. 

Kid #1: My mom says you have too many kids.
Me:  Your mom eats too many cheeseburgers.

Kid #2: Your toilet is flooding
Me (Looking into the toilet):  Wow, what did you do to it?

Niece #3: (While playing her violin)  My A string is messed up.
Me:  My G string is messed up.

Kid #4:  Hey Numbnuts
Me:  (long period of stunned silence) Oh, hey.

Typically I have a quick response to a statement like this.  However, the fact that the neighbor is a girl left me speechless.

Old Stories

An unintended result from this blog has been that it makes me pay close attention to what happens around me.  Sometimes it’s easy to slip into the habit of letting days pass by without noticing the funny little events that transpire throughout the day.  Since I feel like I need to write something everyday, I am always watching and listening, wondering if I can spin what I observe into an interesting blog entry.  It has gotten to a point where something will happen and my kids will say, “Dad, you should blog about that.”  I actually appreciate the new perspectives this blog has given me.

Having said that, I can’t help but feel frustrated when I have nothing to say.  Occasionally I’ll think of something really funny to write about, but the subject matter is questionable enough for me to reconsider and go to the wife for her approval.  I know I shouldn’t do this since I go into it knowing full well that she’ll put the kiabosh on any idea I am even remotely hesitant about.  For example, the other day I asked permission to write about the overwhelming number of “augmented” women in our neighborhood (If this makes you panic, wondering "do they know?"  the answer is yes, we know, we always know).  I promised to be tactful, discrete and nonspecific, but she would have none of it.  You can thank her for missing out on an unprecedented post worthy of the Pulitzer.  We’re talking the Tale of Two Cities of blogs.

When I have moments of writers block, I typically write about events from the past.  I like to live in the present, but please forgive me if I tell old, worn out stories from the past every once in a while.  I’m sure I have the wife’s approval on this, especially if it means I’m not looking to “augmented” women for inspiration. 

Farewell Gary

Our cat Gary was hit and killed by a car on Friday night.  We had him for nine years, so our kids don’t even remember life before Gary.  Needless to say, it was a very sad weekend at our house.  As a tribute to Gary, the following are highlights from his life.

• Nine years ago the wife nearly hit him with her car near a farm when he was just a kitten.  She pulled over and the farmer told her she could take him home.  We named him Gary after SpongeBob’s pet snail.
• Gary wasn’t feeling well so we took him to the vet and had a pellet removed from his stomach.
• He loved pooping in my neighbor nemesis’ flowers.  They tried everything from sprinkling pepper in the flower garden to hauling him to the pound.  Nevertheless, Gary loved sunning himself on their grass and always came back for more.  He loved showing everyone exactly who ran things.
• The only placed he loved sunning himself more than the neighbor’s lawn was the middle of the road.  He casually strolled out in into the road with all of the attitude in the world and made all of the cars go around him.  He always owned the place, no matter where he was.
• Sometimes Gary thought he was a dog.  When Wally and I walked through the fields by our house looking for pheasants he walked with us the entire trip.  Any other time we went on a walk through the neighborhood Gary would walk with us.
• The wife liked to stand near him and tap her legs with her hands.  Every time she did this Gary would immediately jump up into her arms.
• We moved to our new house a couple of miles away from our old house and, from time to time, we wouldn’t see him for a few days.  All we had to do was drive over to the old neighborhood, roll down the window and call his name.  It wouldn’t be long before Gary came trotting out of the fields.
• A few days after coming back from an out of town baseball tournament Gary was missing.  After a few weeks we decided that something had happened and we’d never see him again.  Eight months later the pound called saying they picked him up in a town 10 miles away.  It honestly felt like he had come back from the dead.  Once again, our neighbor’s plan to get rid of him was foiled.
• Once, as he regularly did, Gary brought a mouse in from the fields.  As he was toying with the mouse, my old friend and I were out talking, watching Gary at work.  For some reason, Gary let the mouse go and it ran straight into my friend’s garage.  I looked at my friend and his glazed-over eyes told me that he was envisioning the nightmare infestation of mice that his house had just had thrust upon it.  We spent the next 20 minutes tearing his garage apart until we were able to eliminate the intruder.

I realize that some people probably considered him a nuisance and are happy he is gone, but I suppose that makes us even since those peoples’ children are always a nuisance (I’m not sure if I’m kidding or being completely sincere).  Pets are definitely inconvenient, messy and a pain in the backside.  They cause stress and tension among neighbors and most of the time we wonder why we even put up with them (the pets, not the neighbors).  At the same time, they are loyal, sincere and want nothing more than the love and attention of their owner.  Gary was definitely all of the above.  We’ll miss him, but realize that we were lucky to have him in our lives for nine of the most impressionable and memorable years of our family.  When our children grow up and think back to their childhood, they will definitely remember Gary as a significant part of it.  Isn’t that, after all, why we have pets in the first place?



The Happy Dance

Few surprises are more exciting than putting on a winter coat for the first time of the year and finding money in the pocket.  Because this almost never happens, it definitely justifies the Happy Dance.  I learned the Happy Dance from the wife’s younger brother.  A few months ago we were watching old home movies and noticed that every time he was happy (usually when opening a Christmas gift) he would throw his hands in the air and shake his hips back and forth.  For a visual feel free to ask me in person. 

Anyway, on the way home from work last week I found a hundred dollar bill in my pocket, metaphorically speaking of course.  While changing through the radio stations something caught my attention.  I somehow landed on the Bible Broadcasting Network and, much to my surprise, heard the real Ned Flanders.  Listening to the program had me diddley doing the happy dance all the widdley way home.  I’ve always recognized The Simpsons as loaded with satire, but I never once imagined I’d find the inspiration to THE Ned Flanders. 

Before I direct you to the program let me give you the background.  The program I found is called The Captains Club.  The Captains Club is a children’s radio program hosted by Captain Chesapeake and Sparkle.  The meat and potatoes of the show occurs when Ned narrates a story, which turns into people acting out the parts.  It reminds me so much of Ralphie on The Christmas Story rushing home to listen to Little Orphan Annie on the radio.  The music, complete with an organ for dramatic effect, is straight from the Disney movies of the 30’s. 

Wednesday’s story involved Mike and his neighbor, Mr. Peterson.  Mike’s parents were constantly fighting so he decided that he had had enough and was going to run away.  Lucky for him, he ran into “Mr. Pete” who talked Mike into staying to work on his boat with him while he talked Mike through his issues.  I’m not sure what I loved most, Ned Flanders, the superb voice acting, the dramatic organ or the fact that I kept waiting for Mike and Mr. Pete’s already awkward relationship to turn romantic, causing irreparable emotional damage to the obviously vulnerable Mike.   

Tonight I’d like you to gather your children on the living room floor to listen to your favorite radio program just like any other night.  The only difference in tonight being, instead of turning on the old Philco, I’d like you to go to this link to listen to a show that really knows how to reach today's generation of kids.  If you’re short on time, the story usually beings at about the 15 minute mark.  I’m sure you’ll be enlightened and uplifted. 

http://www.bbnradio.org/wcm4/english/RadiobrBroadcast/Programs/ProgramScheduleandLinks/tabid/459/ItemID/50/Default.aspx



Tribute to the Utes

Why I think the University of Utah is gimmicky.

After this one, what more needs to be said?

Song and Dance

Our kids range in age from 12 to 1.  Sometimes I worry that by having siblings so much older than they, the younger kids will learn things too quickly and have a tendency to be too big for their britches.  For example, when Wally was 7 years old he started playing superleague baseball.  At the very first meeting, one of the coaches mentioned they’ll run the team like soccer players.  One of the kids, who has significantly older siblings, responded, “Soccer is for homos.”  I could tell by the blank expressions that no one else knew what a “homo” was.

When Alimatu got here, she arrived as a 3 year old with basically a blank slate.  The other two girls immediately broke out their watercolors and began to create their own work of art on her slate, some good, some not so good.  Last night she was standing on the countertop, shaking her hips in an assortment of dance moves her sisters taught her.  I decided to join in the fun by singing a song she could dance to.  She seems to have a bit of a bladder control issue, so I added my own words to make Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” a little more appropriate.  She just smiled and danced through the entire song, completely oblivious to the fact that I was teasing her.

Let's go all the way tonight

I will wet my pants tonight
No regrets, just love

No diaper?  No prob
We can dance until we die

I will soak my underwear
You and I

I will pee
We'll be young forever

In my pants forever

You make me

I will pee
Feel like I'm living a

Into my underwear

Teenage Dream

Forever
The way you turn me on

Until the end of time
I can't sleep

I can soak
Let's runaway

Straight through my jeans
And don't ever look back

In every single pair
Don't ever look back

Every single pair

My heart stops

I can’t stop
When you look at me

When I feel that pee
Just one touch

I don’t try
Now baby I believe

No you can’t make me
This is real

I won’t learn
So take a chance

So just don’t try
And don't ever look back

I will forever pee
Don't ever look back

In my underwear

I know neither the real song nor my version is appropriate, but I choose to blame my parents for letting me listen to Weird Al as a kid.  Who could forget some of the other classics I came up with as a kid?

Scooby Scooby Do, where are you?  We need some help from you now.

Scooby Scooby Do, where did you poo?  Right behind the curtains.

Strawberry Shortcake with her freckled nose, Raspberry Tart with her cute little fart.

And my favorite from Kenny Rogers:

Lady, I’m your knight in shining armor, and I love you.

Lady, you are dumb and you are stupid, and I hate you.

Yes, I am still working out my “girls have cooties” issues.

Food and Flatulence

Today we need to make this blog more fun and entertaining.  After thinking about it for 5 minutes (sorry, my attention span doesn’t allow me to spend more than 5 minutes on anything) I decided that the best way to spice up this blog is to make it more interactive so today I am going to ask for your help.  I want you to send me your most embarrassing moment.  You can either post it as a comment or email it to me at myfilterisbroken@gmail.com and I will post it on the blog.  I won't, of course, mention your name.  Since I don’t have a ton of followers, I’m inviting you to send the link to your friends, asking them to contribute.  Even though I don’t embarrass easily, I’ll get us started by mentioning some of my shining moments.

1. When I was young we had a family reunion at a lake resort.  One night we were roasting hot dogs on the campfire.  I grabbed a roaster that already had a hot dog on it.  My uncle looked at me and asked, “Why are you burning the handle of my roaster?”  Taking a closer look what I thought was a hot dog was the wooden handle of the roaster.
2. In 8^th grade drama class I jumped forward in my seat to get into a conversation.  The force of the motion caused my stomach to contract and I…ahem (tooted).  Luckily someone turned to the boy next to me and exclaimed, “Geoff!!!!”
3. At a company Christmas lunch a couple of years ago I popped what I thought was divinity into my mouth.  Immediately, I knew something was wrong.  Hoping no one noticed, I hurried and swallowed but my boss questioned, “Did you just eat butter?” for the world to hear.  I don’t know why people have to get fancy in their presentation of butter anyway.
4. Once at a park I got out of the car and...ahem (tooted) in the immediate direction of the car parked next to us.  When I turned to leave I noticed a woman inside the car feeding her baby, laughing out of control.

What does it say about me that all of my stories are about food or flatulence? 

Ok, now it’s your turn.  Don’t be shy. 

November

I realize we have all been holding in our excitement for months and months.  Now that it is November it’s time to officially let our excitement show.  No, I’m not talking about college football or Christmas (Yuck, I hate Christmas).  I’m talking about the most important date of the year, November 19^th.  If you don’t know what happens on November 19^th get off my blog and never come back.  I’m being 100% serious about this one (hahaha, like I’ve ever been 100% serious). 

November 19^th is the day Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows comes out in theaters.  I can’t wait to put on my cloak, straighten my glasses and arm myself with my 11” Holly Wand with a Phoenix feather core and head to the theater.  Ok, so I might not be so extreme as to dress up for the movie, but I am a pretty big fan.

I’m beginning to wonder if the wife thinks I have a problem.  Yesterday she had The Hunger Games in her hand and told me I should read it.  I told her that I am perfectly content with Harry Potter thank you very much.  She’s worried that I’m half-way through the books for the fourth time and thinks I should give another book a chance.  With a look of great concern in her eyes she told me that I need to expand my horizons a bit.  After reading the series for the first time I became a casual user, reading a HP book, another book, the next HP, another book and so on.  Now that I don’t have much time to read I pretty much stick with HP. Just because JK Rowling sold her soul to the devil (how else could you explain such a literary masterpiece?) it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t enjoy the books.  After all, I’m only hurting myself.

On to the point of my story…I have a really bad toothache but can’t go to the dentist because I don’t have insurance.  The only thing that makes me feel better are HP books.  Strangely enough, this morning my HP books were missing and my toilets were all plugged.  I tried knocking on a few doors in the neighborhood but no one had the books.  Does anyone have a book I could borrow? 

By the way, if anyone tries organizing an intervention, I swear to you I will run and never come back.  Actually, an intervention might be kinda fun.  Tonight at 7:00 we are having a Harry Potter intervention at my house.  Please bring a letter that tells me how much you care for me and how badly it hurts to see me doing this to myself.  I promise to tear up a little when you read it out loud.

Jets vs Sharks

Yesterday was the last day of the month and if you would have driven through my neighborhood between the hours of 12:00 and 2:00 you would have witnessed a very strange phenomenon.  There you would see men in shirts and ties, scurrying from door to door like a well orchestrated ant colony.  In my neighborhood the last day of the month means that it’s time to do Home Teaching.  For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, our church divides the men in pairs of two and assigns them 2 or 3 families to visit.  Each month the companionship is supposed to visit the family to get to know them, check on their well being and bring a short, spiritual lesson to share with them.

The worst part about the situation is that we have to report whether or not we have visited each family every month.  At least once a month a lesson regarding the importance of home teaching is given and we are all reminded that only 15% of home teaching was done the previous month.  Each month it’s the same thing, “brethren we can do better,” while all heads are down, staring at the floor, hoping no one will make eye contact with them, especially the fathers of the families they are supposed to visit.  After 45 minutes of pure and unadulterated guilt, we all shamefully file out of the chapel, promising ourselves we’ll win the star of gold for being the world’s greatest home teacher next month.  However noble our intentions may be, the last day of the month always sneaks up on us.  This makes for an incredibly awkward visit on the last day of every month, with the home teachers and the families pretending that it’s not the last day of the month because that might indicate the home teachers are there out of duty instead of genuine concern. 

So yesterday I was visiting a family with two very young children when the father asked where our kids go to school.  Approximately half of the kids in our neighborhood attend a charter school while the other half go to public school.  My kids go to the public school but my companion told the family that he sends his kids to the charter school because he has noticed that the kids who go to public school “have no respect.”  He then tried to clarify by making a comparison of one of the worst behaved boys in the neighborhood to one of the most angelic girls you would ever meet.  Obviously she is an angel because she goes to a charter school and he is terrible because he goes to public school.  Because my filter is broken I turned to him and asked, “Are you comparing my children to HIM?”  The father, trying to diffuse the situation, then said he is leaning toward sending his kids to public school for the athletics and my companion mentioned that the charter school stresses the liberal arts more than sports.  I replied that it’s fine if he wants his kids to walk around the house singing, “when you’re a jet you’re a jet all the way” (yes, I did do the snapping choreography) but he better send them to my house where I’ll play sports with them and toughen them up a bit for the real world.  Now that I think about it, maybe I should’ve gone to a charter school so that I could treat people with a little more respect. 

For the record, I love West Side Story.

Paying it Forward

I'm not a blog stalker.  In fact, the only blogs I have ever really read were Nienie and the occasional search for old high school classmates.  Since I started this blog I have noticed other blogs and many have one thing in common....they are all pretty dang girly and crafty.  If I ever feel the urge to improve my table arrangements or decorate for an upcoming holiday, I know the wonderful world of blogs will give me everything I need.

I suppose it’s time for me to pay it forward and provide some useful information to the blogging world so here we go.

How to Fix a Bicycle Tire, the Man’s Way

INTRODUCTION:  It is important to remember that the principles discussed in this article can be applied to all manly tasks.  I have found them particularly useful in assembling cribs and swing sets, repairing lawn mowers and making that pesky stroller fit in the tiny trunk of a Honda Civic (for the entertaining version of this story feel free to contact the wife).

When completing a manly task it is imperative to keep in mind that the job has not been successfully completed until the wife has stormed away in anger or offered to do the job herself and at least one child is in tears.

Step 1:  Put off doing the job for at least two weeks.  No matter how often or how intense the nagging gets, a manly man always puts off doing the job.  This allows the wife and/or children to more fully appreciate the job once it has been completed.

Step 2:  Complain about your lack of sleep and the hard day you have already put in as you set up the bike and gather the needed tools.  Raise your voice significantly higher when someone has misplaced the bike pump.

Step 3:  Remove the cap from the valve stem and release as much air as possible from the tube.  Insert large screwdriver between the tire and the rim and attempt to pry the tire from the rim.  Utter a low-level curse word just loud enough for any spectators to hear when the tire finally slips off the rim and your knuckles hit the concrete and begin to bleed.  The curse word will remind any spectators that you are feeling slightly volatile at this point and it is best for them to keep their distance.

Step 4:  Nag the wife about the dishes in the sink as you remove them, making sure to spread them all over the countertop.  During this process I have found it most effective to once again remind everyone within shouting distance that I have already put in a full day of work.  Wives really appreciate the intimation that while you were working hard all day long she was relaxing, allowing the dishes to pile up in the sink.

Step 5:  Fill the sink, inflate the bike tube and prepare to dunk it in the water.  At this point show the children and the wife all of the many patches you have already placed on the bike tube.  This will impress them, as they will be reminded just how much work you do for them.

Step 6:  Dunk the tube in the water and identify the leak where the bubbles are coming out.  Hold your finger near the hole as you dry off the tube.  Curse a mid-level swear word when you lose track of the hole.  Repeat Step 6 and mark the hole with a sharpie.

Step 7:  Secure a patch and attempt to remove the lid from the used tube of glue.  Curse an upper-level swear word quietly when glue squirts into your mouth from removing the lid with your teeth.

Step 8:  Apply glue to the area surrounding the leak and place a patch over the glue.  Complain boisterously about how the glue is supposed to dry quickly but the patch keeps sliding around the surface of the tube because of the wet glue.

Step 9:  Place tube and tire on the rim, inserting the stem first.  Attempt to fit the tire around the circumference of the rim.  At this point it is always necessary to curse loudly and violently because the tire has shrunk 4 sizes and no longer fits on the rim.

Step 10:  Use a screwdriver to pry on the tire, inflate tire and attempt to attach tire to bike frame. Curse and throw something when the tire doesn’t fit through the brake calipers because you inflated it.

Step 11:  Deflate tire, attach to bike frame and reinflate the tire.

Step 12:  Repeat all steps the following day when you have either 1) poked a hole in the tube with the screwdriver when attempting to fit it on the rim or 2) a small leak is coming from under the patch because you didn’t give the glue enough time to dry.

By following these steps you will ensure that the wife won’t ask you to do another project for at least another 2 days.

In All His Glory

Day Off

So today I had the day off of work.  Turns out there actually are benefits to working for an old school, redneck company that still gives their employees the first Monday of the deer hunt off. Having the day off was very insightful into a day in the life of the wife.  We let the kids get up an hour late and get ready for school all by themselves while we slept in.  By about 10:00 we pulled ourselves out of bed, had brunch and tea on the bistro set under the pergola in the yard catching up on the local gossip with the neighborhood ladies then spent the rest of the afternoon watching the Maury Show.  The day was so enjoyable I think I’ll quit my job and invite TLC over to start a reality show based on my life.

Ok, so the day didn’t really go down like that, although I actually did catch the end of Maury.  Today’s show involved two women who had each invited two men onto the show to take a paternity test to find out who was the father of her baby.  My favorite woman was a delicate, 300lb daisy who bawled and wailed like our old milk cow Bessy after she had spent all afternoon feasting in the onion patch and got a terrible stomach ache.  When the test results came back her earring laden one-nighter promised to be a great father to her child while she scolded him sternly.  I see nothing but years upon years of wedded bliss in their future.  During a commercial break Maury invited anyone who suspects her mother is sleeping with her husband or boyfriend to call the show.  After observing this despicable and regrettable reflection of American society I have only two words to say…  AWE SOME!!!!!

I wanna be on Maury so badly now.  Since I don’t think my mother is sleeping with my husband OR my boyfriend, I decided to send Maury some of my true life experiences to see if he’ll invite me and one of my enemies onto the show.  Let me know which one I should send in.

Contestant #1:  This former neighbor hauled my cat first to the pound, then to a town 15 miles away, only to see him return time and time again.  He said we should keep the cats on a leash when we let them outside.  Thanks to this neighbor I have a police record for having a dog (a ferocious one at that) at large.  If you don’t believe me, simply check the site www.utahsright.com and search my name. 

Contestant #2:  This former friend was one of my best friends in high school.  He has spent the last 10 years out of state but recently returned home.  In a city league basketball game last year he taunted me, then tried to pick a fight with me because my team was winning.  Then, after the game, he put his arm around my shoulder and loved me up like nothing had happened.

Contestant #3: This current neighbor was pregnant and violently ill.  While playing a card game together I might have taken the smack talk and tomfoolery a bit too far as, three years later, she still gives me the stink eye each time she sees me.  I’ve treaded lightly around her these past three years for three reasons  1) I feel bad for my obnoxious behavior at her expense, 2) She has a brother with a neck thicker than my waist who seems very protective of her and  3) She maintains in her possession a photograph of me that I am not proud of that I definitely don't want to go viral.

Your input would be greatly appreciated.  Votes will be accepted until Friday.  My filter is broken and I approve of this message.

Crazy Cat Lady

The weather is supposed to get cold tomorrow, probably until March.  To most people this means it’s time to get out the warm clothes and start thinking about Christmas.  To me it means only one thing…the cats are going to want to start coming in the house again. 

Wow, that makes me sound like a crazy cat lady.  I have been called crazy before.  I have been called a lady before.  Heck, back in my younger, more athletic days I was even known for my cat-like quickness and agility.  Ok, I might be exaggerating a bit on that one.  However, in the state basketball tournament the fans for one team called me Dumbo every time I touched the ball.  I never really figured out what they meant by that so I just assumed they were comparing my jumping abilities to Dumbo and his ability to fly.  They couldn’t possibly have been referring to the size of my ears, even though I have since had ear reduction surgery.  I also couldn’t figure out why my own school would chant that at me.  I’m not sure what that has to do with me being a crazy cat lady so I’ll move on.  So I may have been called each of those names at one point or another in my life but never all bunched together in one accusation.

We have two cats that we have had for years.  As we live next to a large, mice infested field, the cats are usually content to stay outside most of the time, occasionally offering a great sacrifice of a mouse head or entire corpse on the front porch in thanksgiving for bringing them to such a paradisiacal mouse haven (I hope you’ll overlook this tremendous run-on sentence as you are so impressed at my awesome use of the word “paradisiacal.”  Admit it, you were impressed.)  Anyway, when it gets cold the cats like to come in the house.  This wouldn’t be much of a problem for me except for one thing, and this is totally disgusting….every once in a while they’ll find a blanket to urinate on.  I swear to you, not even the rotting remains of the two deer carcasses I buried under the cover of darkness in the field next to my house (yes, two detectives did pay me a visit- dang paranoid neighbors who were suspicious of what I was really burying) could smell worse than cat pee.    

Even the bulldog we used to have didn’t smell that bad.  I remember when we were house training her I’d wake up in the morning from a dream about steak.  I would honestly arise from my slumber wondering why it smelled meaty in our house.  I’d wake up thinking, “yum, something smells delicious” until I’d realize the smell was just a fresh, steaming land mine left by our mentally ill bulldog. 

I guess I better get to the point.  We sold the bulldog months ago, but does anyone need a couple of cats to keep them warm this winter?

Broken Stuff

Last night Wally came to me complaining that Alimatu broke his PSP.  I was actually kind of mad, but since I'm a "Told You So" kinda guy I had to tell him that now he knows how I feel when they break all of my stuff.  This made me start thinking about just how many items my kids have broken.  Let me name a few.

1.      50" Flat Screen TV.  They were downstairs watching it one night and fell asleep with it on.  When they woke up the sound worked but the picture was out.

2.      Toilet.  It was plugged and I couldn’t for the life of me get it unplugged.  I finally shut off the water and pulled it apart.  I broke it trying to get a batman toothbrush out of the bendy part of the porcelain.

3.       Front window of the house.  We hadn’t even moved into our new house before Nelly (11 year old daughter.  Her cousin once told her, “You’re so mean.  No wonder my dad calls you Nelly Olsen.”) threw a rock through the front window.

4.      Precious memorabilia.  I kept my precious trophies from the early 80s (can you say glory days?) in perfect condition for twenty years.  How could my kids possibly break them all AND my stuffed jackalope in a matter of months.

5.      Nintendo Game Cube.  Lunch Meat actually peed in a cup then opened the door where the disc goes and dumped the pee inside.  Wow, now that I think of it I believe this story deserves its own blog entry.

6.      Nintendo Wii drums.  I’m not sure how, but the connectors that plug into the drums got pulled off the wires.

7.      21,089 DVDs and CDs.  I don’t believe I own any that aren’t scratched beyond use.

8.      Trampoline.  This summer the springs would periodically fly off of the tramp from where they were sewed on.  In all fairness, I don’t believe this one was their fault.

9.      Window screens.  How could they possibly tear every single window screen in the entire house?

10.   Computer.  At first the sound stopped working, now it won’t even turn on.

11.  Bike tires.  This one wouldn’t be a big deal if I hadn’t fixed 4.2 million flat tires in the past 6 years.

12.  2002 Honda Odyssey.  Broken hinges on both sliding doors not to mention crayons, loose change and a key in the tape and CD players.  I believe this is also the car Wally peed in when the wife was taking too long in the grocery store.

13.  Last and most importantly…my children have broken my will to live. Hahahaha.

One thing is for sure, they better grow up to be wealthy to pay me back for all of this.  I’m sure I didn’t break anything when I was a kid.  Did you?

This is Better

After the previous post I feel like I need to come back and redeem myself so here it goes.....

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel stuck between his legs.  The bartender says, "Wow, that looks really uncomfortable."  The pirate replies, "Arrrr, it's drivin' me nuts."

There, I feel better.  I hope you do too.

My Soapbox

My grandma is painting the outside of her house this week so last night the wife and I drove her around town looking at houses to help her pick out the color.  While we were driving around she told us a very interesting story.  During the Great Depression her father lost his job so they moved to MLM Valley looking for work.  He, his wife and their six kids actually lived in a chicken coop while he looked for a job.  They stayed in the chicken coop until after he found a job and he and his friends had built a house. 

This blog is intended to make people laugh.  Sometimes I mention politics, but it’s usually in jest and my comments shouldn’t be taken seriously.   However, after hearing that story about my great-grandfather I can’t help but get on my soapbox for a bit today.  This isn’t a political message, rather it is more of a reflection of society today and I hope you’ll forgive me.

I can’t help but imagine how difficult it was for my great-grandfather, his wife and his children to humble themselves and do what they needed to do in order to survive.  I don’t know how they felt as they interacted with their peers during those circumstances but I’m sure it was difficult.  Maybe people understood the gravity of the times and knew that everyone had to do the best they could to get by. Maybe situations like this were common but I don’t know.  I have been out of work before and it affected me more than just financially.  As bad as things may have been, I always had a house to live in and food on the table.  I can only imagine the pressure he felt, the disappointment, the enormous responsibility of struggling to provide for his family, likely even embarrassment to be living where he was living. 

Do me a favor today.  Turn on the radio and listen to the commercials.  I’m constantly surprised at how many companies are advertising their services to help people eliminate mortgages, credit card debt and taxes they accrued by their own fee will with no consequences.  Yes, I understand that banks and other lending institutions were bailed out by the government and we would all like some of that to be passed on to us.  I’m as guilty as anyone else of spending beyond my means, living paycheck to paycheck and suffering the consequences.  My grandfather would be shocked, probably disgusted if he saw what I spend my money on. 

Oh, and one other thing….when my great-grandfather passed away at the young age of 42…he was completely debt free.

I'm Back

Did anyone even notice I was gone?  So last week I decided that I had enough and headed out for a quick, completely spontaneous vacation to Tahiti.  It was so nice to be relaxing on the sparkling beaches, looking over the ocean without a care in the world.  Ok, so I was really in Idaho deer hunting but that's the same thing, right?  It was Wally's first deer hunt so he, my dad, my brother and I headed north to be stinky, manly men. 

When I came home from a week with the guys I decided it would be wise to take the wife out to dinner.  We went to Little Caesars to pick up pizza for the kids and, while I was there, I decided there is a trend in the fast food industry that is driving me crazy.  It started at Arctic Circle.  Every once in a while we stop by Arctic Circle for ice cream.  It has always bugged me to pull up at the drive thru and have them say, "Welcome to Arctic Circle.  Can I interest you in a combo meal tonight?"  Then I have to reply, "No thanks, I think I'd like some ice cream."

In business school I learned why fast food restaurants are so successful.  It's not that the food is exceptional, fast food restaurants are successful because they are cheap and when you go there you know exactly what you are getting.  At the restaurant where the wife and I went, I asked the waiter if he recommended anything on the menu.  But think about it, when was the last time you went to McDonalds, Little Caesars or Burger King and had to ask for recommendations?  Which brings me back to my story....I'm sure everyone is familiar with the Hot n Ready Pizza for $5 at Little Caesars.  I hate it when I walk in and order two Hot n Ready Pizzas only to have the cashier point out the obvious sign in front of the register advertising a more premium pizza for $3 more.  I always feel so awkward smiling and saying, "No thanks, I think I really do want what I told you I want." 

When you were in college and a guy would come to your apartment and ask for Sharon would you say, "Yes, she's here but so is Carol, are you sure you don't want to see her?"  When kids knock at your door and ask to play with Danny do you say, "He's here, but wouldn't you rather play with Johnny?" 

I'm beginning to wonder if this is all part of Obama's plan.  Maybe fast food establishments have been instructed by the Obama administration to tell us what we want in order to desensitize us, further convincing us that others know what's best for us more than we do.  Once we are sufficiently prepared maybe we'll be more accepting of Obamacare.

Psychology 101

Whenever the wife gets mad at me, for any of the million reasons she does (justifiably so in most cases), I have a certain tactic I like to use to defend myself.  Rather than face my own shortcomings and try to improve myself, I like to mention other people who are worse than I am. I think this tactic deserves a name so let’s call it the “It Could Be Worse, At Least You’re Not Married To Tiger Woods Strategy” or “Tiger Tactic” for short.  Yeah, I like that last one better.

Now, on to a practical approach to the Tiger Tactic.  Let’s imagine a completely fictitious situation.  I dunno…maybe I write a post on my blog about pushing little kids around and include pictures of me doing something completely absurd like throwing a three year old 9-10 miles into the air.  Wow, that sounds really ridiculous, maybe I need to think of a more realistic example. I mean, who would actually do something like that, right?  Anyway, now let’s suppose people don’t really approve of this action and I get some negative feedback.  In this situation, most people would recommend explaining that I really don’t push little kids around and that the pictures are misleading.  Another option might be to express remorse, apologize and promise to never let it happen again.  Well I’m not most people.  The following is a story on how to properly apply the Tiger Tactic:

The wife teaches Sunday School at Church to the 15 and 16 year old youth. Sometimes I like to sit in with her while she teaches.  In case you live in a cave, teenagers have a very short attention span (especially at church) so it’s important to mix things up a bit to keep their attention.  One activity we do to break up the monotony is asking the kids to tell a funny story about their parents.  Yes, parents would kill us if they knew so please don’t rat us out on this one.  Anyway, here are a couple of funny stories they told us.

1-     My dad has a really bad temper and used to use a belt on me when I’d misbehave.

2-     My dad got really mad and threw a wheelchair down the stairs (no, nobody was actually in the wheelchair when he threw it). 

3-     Once my mom got really mad and disappeared for a week and wouldn’t answer her phone.  We think she stayed in a hotel, but aren’t really sure.

4-     I wanted to jump on the trampoline but my sister was sitting on it playing her guitar.  I dunno, I guess I was just feeling kinda weird so I broke her guitar.  My dad grounded me so I snuck out my window cause, I dunno, I was kinda freaking out for some reason.  Later he came into my room and asked me if I wanted to go for a ride.  I hate it when he does that cause that just means he wants to talk (yes, in case you couldn’t tell, this kid is a football player). 

There, in comparison I’m not such a bad guy, am I?  Oh, by the way, if you happen to be one of these examples I apologize for knowing but promise your secret is safe with me.  Trust me, we all have our moments.

The Girl Who Could Fly

One of the best advantages of having kids is that they are small and I can easily push them around.  Take these pictures for example.  Zoom on her face.  Does it look like she really wanted to be thrown to the edge of the stratosphere?

Cyclone

The wife has three younger brothers, two of which are significantly younger than she is.  Because they are young and trendy, they are the “cool uncles.”  A negative aspect of this relationship is that my kids get way too much exposure to video games and rap music. 

Two years ago I was bringing the boys home from basketball practice when they, of course, made me turn the stereo to a rap station.  The chorus of the song that was on repeated, “She moves her body like a cyclone.”  As if this wasn’t bad enough, five year old Lunch Meat proceeded to tell me, “I saw this video at Grandma’s house.   She really does move her body like a cyclone….”  I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Oh boy, where is this one going,” when he finished, “….it’s DISGUSTING!!!” 

The two lessons I learned from this experience are 1) I needed to more closely monitor the music my children listen to and 2) keep encouraging my boys that it really is disgusting when women move their bodies like a cyclone for at least 10 more years.