Thanksgiving

I do so love the holidays. I love the way my wife turns into a crazy ball of stress while frantically getting everything done on time. It's the best!

cell phone chargers

What the hell?! Why do I have to buy a new charger every stinkin time I I get a new phone? USB, mini USB, micro USB, kinda USB, not really USB, nothing like USB... The list goes on and on. I'm not a pro government regulator kinda guy but this is ridiculous. Someone needs to do something. And by something I mean get all the phone manufacturers together and come up with one. Now please.

The boy

The kids get a treat every once in a while. They get to fall asleep next to momma while I take a shower. The awesome thing about that is I get to see my wife interact with our children in a way that I will never be able to. As the nurturer, she is inherently better at all the lovey dovey crap the kids need. It is genuinely great to see this in action. 

Now, the bad part of this is that my kids sweat like Teamsters. Tiny little angry dock workers who haven't been paid in three weeks and are about to strike. My pillow always ends up wet from their sweaty little heads. Oh, yes. And they drool too. Lucky me.

*insert curse word here

I've been driving for over 20 years now. I passed my written test missing 2. I passed the driving portion with a perfect 100%. I consider myself a pretty good driver. I have my head on a swivel, looking around all the time. I try to gauge what other cars will be doing, where they might be wanting to go. I try and think ahead. I like to drive. It's fun. I have a class B license with a passenger endorsement and I hope to add the M1 soon. Because I drive as part of my job, you could say I'm a professional driver of sorts. Now if you're asking why I'm rambling like this, it's because I have something that's been bugging me for quite some time now.

I know this has happened to you... You're driving along (on a surface street) and the car ahead of you steps on their brakes. The brake lights light up and they start to slow down. The car then begins to turn. It is at this time when one of the lights on the back of the car begins to blink. The turn is finished and the car goes on its merry way. What's wrong with that?

I'll tell you what's wrong with that.

That little blinking light on the back of the car, that's called a "turn indicatOR", not a "turn indicatED".

Yes, the stick on the left side of the steering column either pushed up or down determines which side of the car the little light blinks on. The little light, again, that is called a "turn indicatOR". It indicates where you WANT to turn. Not where you ALREADY turned. I don't give a crap where you turned. I certainly don't need a little light blinking at me to tell me that. What I would like to know is where you'd like to turn so I don't smack into the back of your car as you slow down for NO APPARENT REASON! Holy crap this is infuriating to me. The name of the device couldn't be any more clear. Turn indicator. To indicate where you'd like to turn. What a freakin awesome invention. Push a stick up or down and presto! A light blinks on the back of your car letting everyone behind you know what you're thinking of doing. Besides the glove box light, this is my favorite part of a car. Nothing else on a car lets other drivers know what you're thinking. Nothing else is predictive. When I see a turn indicator light blinking, I'm inside the driver's head. I know his or her thoughts. We're connected. It's awesome.

Now for all of you who don't share this frustration with me, who think I might be a little overboard on this one. Well, you can all bite me. And while you're at it... USE YOUR FREAKIN TURN INDICATOR BEFORE YOU TURN!

The stache is gone

I just couldn't take it. The ridicule, the looks, the itching. Facial hair and me don't go together.

hormones

Is there a support group for dads with daughters who are just beginning the wonderful journey into womanhood? My sweet little girl just got several little bra-like pieces of undergarment clothing. I am not ready for any of this. I thought I'd have at least another year or two until the raging hormone monster sank its teeth into her. Crap.

Oh, and to make matters worse, every time she says something or has a snotty remark and I comment on it: the wife has to "remind" me that it's just the hormones. I'm pretty slow at things. I'll admit it. Freely. But come on. Every time? It stopped helping the second time she did it. I don't need another book about my daughter's transition into the wonderful world of maturity... I need a group of guys going through the same thing that I can talk to (and yes, sometimes cry with).

dinner

My wife makes some amazing things happen in the kitchen. She is incredible when it comes to being creative and healthy all the while feeding 3 kids (and me). There has been 1 thing she has made, since we've known each other, that I have "not liked". Yes, you heard me. 1 thing. Honestly. Only 1. 

It was while we were first dating. It was some sort of stew. It came out nasty. She wouldn't even eat it. I tried it. Ate most of the bowl and just couldn't finish. Gross. 11 years of marriage and only 1 thing. I think that's pretty amazing. It just goes to show she really knows what she's doing in the kitchen. Her creativity is matched only by her zeal to try new things. I love it. Obviously.

Now, let's examine the seedy side of all this awesome food creativity, shall we? It starts out innocently enough...

I get the news earlier in the day... We're having XYZ for dinner. I'm excited. I think, "We haven't had that in a while. I can't wait." Or, "Oooohhh, that sounds real good." All the rest of the day I'm thinking about how great dinner will be. And then the magical moment arrives. I get home and see before me a feast. A feast the likes of which not many men are witness to (and this is almost daily I will remind you). I gaze at the dinner table and stare in awe at the wondrous meal set before me. This, I think to myself, is what it's like to be loved. Yes. This has to be it. A woman who creates such wonderful meals for me and the children must really love us. Right? Yes.

And then, it takes a turn for the worse.

I look into the kitchen. The place where all the magic happens. And what do I see? What do I see? I see a mess. Holy crap do I see a mess. Some days, I swear, I can see EVERY utensil in some state of dirty-ness strewn about the nuclear waste land that was once my kitchen. Pots, pans, bowls, cheese graters, knives, citrus juice extractors, mini blenders, not sure what that is, plates, a bouncy ball? What!?

Now, instead of really enjoying my sweet dinner, I'm dreading the hour long clean up that will commence when I'm done filling my face. I'm not saying I don't appreciate what she's done for us. Not at all. Quite the contrary. What I am saying is, "Why do you have to use so much stuff?" Oh, wait. I forgot to tell you. We have this deal, this symbiotic type relationship where because I'm a horrible cook, she cooks and I (yep you guessed it) clean. So, this nuclear waste land I see before me. That's all mine baby. All mine.

How do you tell the woman you love that there has never been a meal she's prepared (see above for description of yummy goodness) that was worth the tremendous amount of clean up involved? 

You don't.

camping

I love camping. I hate smelling like smoke.

I screwed up... again.

Forget everything else. Forget the other reasons it isn't completely my fault. Forget. Forget. Forget. I screwed up. I didn't check the email to see if the fax went through. I screwed up.

racism... or stupid kids?

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/highschool-prep-rally/san-antonio-prep-hoops-fans-accused-racismabover-usa-123930890.html

One school is "made up of predominantly minority players" and the other school isn't. 

One school is located in Texas, the other is also. 

Neither of the schools are located in another country. 

Neither of the schools have non U.S. citizens playing for them. 

Which one of the schools chanted "USA, USA" after a win?

I HATE the racism card.

core difference #20

The wife and I are, obviously, different. That being said I'd like to point out another of those differences to you. The one person who is reading this. (thanks by the way)

So, the Boy jumps off the bench from the dinner table again. This isn't unusual. He does it all the time. And each time he does, we tell him not to. This time he jumps off wearing only socks on his feet. Actually, it wasn't a jump really. He slipped and fell forward more than anything. So when he landed, he did so flat on his face. Now to understand this Boy, you need to know that he's just like me. He's a wimp. When things hurt, he lets you know. So, when he landed, there was a loud thump and then a blood curdling scream, that just kept going. Me, being the closest one, got up to asses the damage. He just laid there, face down, screaming. I did my "tired of this show" sigh and lifted him up. That's when I noticed the drops of dark red blood on my white tile floor.

This is now an urgent matter, no longer a "get an ice pack to put on the phantom injury". I decide to cup my hand under his chin to collect the blood and walk him to the bathroom. There I will rinse/wipe him off and asses the real damage that has been done. Here comes the core difference between the Wife and I.

Ready?

While I'm walking Mr. Bloody Face to the bathroom attempting to calm him down with my sage fatherly words... she yells for the Girl to get the dog out so he won't lick up the blood from the floor. Me... I could give a rip about the dog at that moment. If the dog were to jump up on the dinner table and finish my spaghetti right then, I don't think I would have minded. She, on the other hand has this overwhelming need to get the dog out. She gets the dog out and then proceeds to clean the blood. And then she comes in to see what has happened to her sweet baby boy. As I'm showing her what I think the damage is, she asks if he wants me or her to take him to the hospital. And wouldn't you know it? He says, "I want momma." I'm the one taking care of him. I'm the one with his blood and spit all over my hand and arm. I'm the one comforting him. And what thanks do I get? Give the baby a bath, put he and his sister to bed, and clean up dinner. Boo.

baseball

Can I really call them the "glory days" when they weren't that glorious? I liked playing baseball. Some seasons, I actually loved it. But because I was never really that good can they be "glory days"?

And now that the boy is playing all I'm going to want to do is start back up myself. I wonder if I could hit anything over 55mph? Looks like a batting cage trip is in the works!

mysharp

I can't create an account because the computer thinks I'm already logged in. But I'm not because it's not my account, it's the wife's. So, the computer thinks I am my wife. How is this convenient?! CRAP!

my kid throws everything

That's it. Simple enough. He just throws everything when he's in is highchair.

lunch date

So, because it was on her calendar it was supposed to happen. Right.

little league

Nathan is about to start his first Little League season next month. As I'm getting excited about this, it has come to my attention that, apparently, the kids don't share batting helmets anymore. When I asked Wife why that was, she responded with, Head Lice. My first reaction was unbelief. And cue flashback...

When I was playing baseball as a wee lad in Poway, the thought never occurred to any of us to purchase our own batting helmet. The only thing on our minds was to try and find the least sweaty one. Not the one  without little lice bugs crawling around in it. And for that matter, when did sharing a drink, or sandwich, or even a piece of gum with your friend become outlawed? 

I will admit that I did some pretty gross things as a kid, but I don't currently have any of the Hep alphabet, nor have I ever even had a cold sore. Am I some super human immune person? Certainly not. Have you seen my medical record folder from Kaiser? It's bigger than War And Peace! I was hurt all the time as a kid. Broken bones, skinned knees, I have an older brother for pete's sake. We didn't get head lice growing up. I'm not sure if I even knew if any of my friends had it. Did it not exist in the 80's? Pretty sure it did. Head lice isn't one of those things that just materializes out of nowhere. So, why now are we purchasing separate equipment for our kids? Why are we telling them to not drink from the same cup? Okay, I get why you shouldn't share gum. That's just gross. But hey, I was a kid. I did stupid things. Kid things. Jumping off the bridge into a bamboo forrest wasn't the brightest. Neither was sliding down the huge hill on a piece of cardboard, with no way to stop, unless you count the fence at the bottom of the hill. That hurt. But it was fun. I digress.

So, now I've gotta buy an extra helmet, that isn't going to fit him next year. Crap.    

what have i gotten myself into?

Made up words that don't appeal to me: Blog, Webinar, ianything,