Tag Archives: WordPress

I Bet They Meant “Slovenly Blogger Award”

13 Feb

This weekend, I’ve been busy building on a virtual addition to my virtual mantel, and I can tell you that my virtual carpentry skills are just as abysmal as my actual ones. I must have hit my virtual thumb a half-dozen times already.

That should read "Slovenly."

But I need more virtual space, because last week I was virtually presented with a virtual honor called the “Stylish Blogger Award” five times.

No kidding.

And once that virtual mantel is finished, these five SBAs will be proudly displayed  right alongside my “Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest Most Congenial Eater” certificate; the trophy I received after finishing third in Barbershop Weekly’s “Best Celebrity Hair” voting (I was narrowly edged out by George Clooney and Dan Patrick,) and my fourth-place tiara from the 2009 Miss Wyoming Pageant thong competition (if those hemmerrhoids don’t flare up at the last minute, I’m easily sliding into the third spot).

Five SBA Awards presented to me by fellow bloggers in one week! I know what many of you are thinking:

1. Recreational drug use among bloggers is much higher than experts once thought.

2. Coupled with the fact that Snooki is a New York Times bestselling author, this proves that standards for American writing are at an all-time low.

3. Did he have to wire a $1000 to an offshore bank in Africa to claim his prize?

4. They must have meant “Slovenly Blogger Award.”

Regardless, I am honored. The five individuals who awarded me the SBA–Amy from Life in the Trenches, Christian at Adventures and Insights, Clay at EduClaytion, Marina at Marina Sleeps, and Renee (whose name is supposed to have one of those little accent mark things above the second-to-last “e,” but I don’t know how to insert those) at Lessons from Teachers and Twits–have kept regular tabs on the Species crew since I started this blog way back in six months ago, and they are some of the people who have led me to believe that writing could be more than a 4 AM to 6 AM hobby for me. I encourage you to visit their blogs. It is a diverse, insightful, creative group. I check out their sites every chance I get.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Wendy at Herding Cats in Hammond River at this point. Wendy is truly Some Species Eat Their Young’s most loyal reader and commenter. There have been times that Wendy has actually commented on my posts before I have posted them. She is a sort of wise Canadian matriarch of the blogging community, introducing bloggers to one another and commenting on everyone’s work; I believe that every blogger in the blogosphere has three degrees of separation from Wendy. She presented me with an award similar to the SBA on her blog soon after I started posting, and I never responded. Wendy, you’re a gem. Thanks for everything.

But it isn’t all fun and games and thongs with the Stylish Blogger Award. As a recipient, I am required to:

1. Link back to the individuals who presented me with the award.

2. Name six other bloggers to receive the reward.

3. Tell seven interesting things about myself.

But I’m going to audible, and by audible I mean steal Kathy’s idea from Reinventing the Event Horizon after she received an SBA from, of all people, Wendy. Kathy modified the SBA rules. Instead of nominating six bloggers and telling seven things about herself, Kathy asked her readers to give themselves some love (in a virtual non-illegal sort of way) by sharing a link in the comments section to one of  the favorite posts they’ve written and to highlight a post from a blogger that they follow and feel deserves recognition. Brilliant.

I couldn’t possibly narrow my list down to six fellow bloggers to present SBAs to anyway: I don’t like to pick favorites except when it comes to my children. And interesting things about myself? Nobody wants that.

So please, repost yourself and post another in the comments section.

Thanks again to Amy, Christian, Clay, Marina, Renee, and Wendy. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and kind words. When I get that mantel finished up, I’ll send you a virtual picture. I might even put on the tiara and thong.

Also, thanks to Kick Ass Wife. Without you, it would have been incredibly difficult to have four kids. And thanks to the Species Spawn themselves–Slim, Perpetual Motion, Hellcat, and Tax Credit #4. Without you guys, I would have had this post done three days ago.

Finally, thanks to everyone who follows the Species crew. There is almost certainly something better that you could do with five minutes of your day, but I’m thankful that you choose to blow those five minutes here.

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Sleeper Super Bowl Followed by Small-Scale Rioting

7 Feb

UNITED STATES, Wyoming (AP) To be crowned a champion, it takes hard work, drive, and unrelenting focus.  Such dogged determination can be exhausting.

Just ask Tax Credit #4.

Face-down in Top Ramen: the price of perfection.

The pint-sized prognosticator, age 2, known for his “no”-nonsense approach to picking the winners in this year’s NFL Playoffs, ended this postseason just like he started it: perfect. But it wasn’t without a price.

Shortly after the 3:30 pm (MST) press conference during which he predicted that, “No,” the Pittsburgh Steelers would not win Super Bowl XLV, a near-guarantee that the Green Bay Packers would in fact claim the 4th title in the franchise’s history, Tax Credit #4 was found passed out face-down in his bowl of Top Ramen, the heavy expectation of  perfection having run him down like a Clay Matthews pass rush, literally sacking him in his booster seat.

#4′s brother, Perpetual Motion, wasn’t surprised. “The last two weeks he’s been pouring over statistical data, reviewing game film from each of the Steelers and Packers’ games during the 2010-2011 season, consulting players and coaches from around the league for insider analysis. He just wore himself out. But I tell you what: he called it.”

In a related story, small-scale rioting was reported in the McFadden’s basement just after the Lombardi Trophy was presented to the Packers. Raw footage of the melee was captured by an amateur videographer, including images of a rejuvenated Tax Credit #4 double-fisting two Ligthsabers. Asked whether it was past his bedtime, he enthusiastically yelled, “No.”

Another rioter, Tax Credit #4′s sister, the Hellcat, 3, shouted, “What’s the Super Bowl?” when asked whether the children’s unruly behavior was meant to show support for the Packers’ victory. Her 6-year old brother, Slim, added, “That Darth Vader commercial was awesome!”

According to the children’s father, he was going to have another beer.

(How was your Super Bowl Sunday? What was your favorite advertisement? Any rioting, small-scale or otherwise? Anyone have an idea why they can’t play the Super Bowl on Saturday?)

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The Super Bowl and Prop Bets: Will Raji’s Pants Hold?

4 Feb

Watching the Super Bowl is as American as it gets. This Sunday, families, friends, and complete strangers will gather in basements, dens, bars, abandoned parking lots, and funeral parlors to cheer and groan and cry in unison while filling their bodies with enough Lit’l Smokies and Budweiser to kill a football-kicking Clydesdale, sharing in the tradition of baby and reptile commercials, the Buffalo Bills losing, and calling in sick for work on Monday.

And, of course, betting.

The only thing more American than watching the big game is placing some type of wager on it. Maybe it’s as simple putting down 20 bucks with the guy at work who is a lifelong Steelers fan. Or buying one of the spots on those Punnett-square-looking things laying on the table in the office lounge. You know, the deal where if you have the number 3 and at the end of the first quarter the combined score of both teams ends in 3, the lady from accounting who bought the number 5 somehow wins $200?

Sometimes you’ll even see a well-publicized bet between the mayors of the two cities whose teams are playing in the game. Usually it’s a friendly theme bet based on whatever the particular city or state is famous for: a block of fine cheese vs. a case of prime-cut steaks, for example. But occasionally these political wagers become a tad extreme, especially if there is an intense rivalry between the two cities involved:

Mayor #1: “If my team loses, I’ll send my children to your city’s public schools for one year.”

Mayor #2: “Fair enough. And if my team loses, I’ll send my kids to our city’s public schools.”

And if you really want to go against the grain and simply betting on the outcome of the game isn’t enough action, you can delve into “prop” bets, also known as “If-you’re-willing-to-place-$100-on-whether-the-head-coach-is-wearing-boxers-or-briefs-it’s-time-to-seek-professional-help” betting.

Over/under on facial hairs is a bold bet. Stupid, but bold.

Prop betting specifically targets that person who thinks, I have a $100. Now, I could simply burn it. Or I could wipe my rear end with it. Or I could start a college fund for my child with it. Or I could place an over/under wager on the number of hairs in Ben Roethlisberger’s beard.

Following is a partial list of the official prop bets for this year’s Super Bowl, as well as a few unofficial prop bets I’ve added to the list. See if you can tell the difference. (I have taken the liberty of cutting out the odds attached to each bet to protect the integrity of this blog, and because I have no clue what they mean anyway.)

1. How long will it take Christina Aguilera to sing the National Anthem?

2. How long will Christina Aguilera hold the note “Brave” at the end of the National Anthem?

3. Will Christina Aguilera channel her inner Roseanne Barr and sing the National Anthem in the pitch of a juvenile howler monkey being castrated?

4. Will Christina Aguilera wear a cowboy hat while singing the National Anthem?

5. Will Christina Aguilera brand a cow while singing the National Anthem?

6. Will Christina Aguilera’s hair color be anything except completely blonde when she sings the National Anthem?

7. Will Christina Aguilera sing the entire National Anthem without gyrating her pelvis?

8. What will be the result of the Super Bowl XLV coin toss?

Heads
Tails
Seat of B.J. Raji’s Pants Blowing Out

 

9. Will BJ Raji score a touchdown during the game?

10. If BJ Raji scores a touchdown during the game, will his ensuing celebratory dance cause the Cowboys Stadium mega-jumbo Jumbotron to break free, crash to the field, and crush both teams, resulting in the first draw in Super Bowl history?

11. Which of my four children will first run into the room and ask whether the green team has scored a home run yet?

Slim
Perpetual Motion
The Hellcat
Tax Credit #4

 

12. What will Fergie be wearing when she first appears on stage during the Super Bowl halftime show?

Skirt/Dress
Pants (Below Knees)
Shorts (Above Knees)
Thong/G-String/Bikini Bottom
Chainmail Armor
Tuxedo T-shirt

 

13. Will Fergie be dressed as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader at any point during the halftime show?

14. Will I instinctively leap off of the couch and attempt to fist-bump my wife if Fergie is dressed as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader at any point during the halftime show?

15. If Fergie is dressed as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader at any point during the halftime show and I do instinctively leap off of the couch and attempt to fist-bump my wife, will she instead knee-bump my crotch?

16. Who will the FOX announcers say has worse split ends during the game?

Christina Aguilera
Troy Polamalu
Clay Matthews

 

Will those pants hold?

17. What color will the Gatorade be that is dumped on the head coach of the winning Super Bowl team?

18. What color will the juice be that one (or more) of my four children spills on the carpet during the game?

19. Who will President Obama pick to win the game?

20. How long will it take for the Tea Party to blame America’s economic state on President Obama’s pick?

21. Will there be a live remote from Alaska during halftime showing Sara Palin shooting some type of animal?

22. Will either team score 3 unanswered times in the game?

23. Will I score 3 times in the next 6 months after that whole Fergie/wife/fist-bump thing?

24. Who will score the game-winning touchdown?

25.Why will I miss the game-winning touchdown?

Shattered Television Screen Caused by Epic Lightsaber Duel
Changing Blown Out Diaper of 49ers-Broncos-Super-Bowl Proportions
Wife Flips Over to Trading Spaces Marathon as Retaliation for That Whole Fergie/Wife/Fist-bump Thing

 

As you can see, prop bets can be a lot of fun. Or incredibly painful.

So, if you’ve got an extra $100 burning a hole in your pocket, for God’s sake, put it in your kid’s college fund.

Or send it to me so I can get that shattered big screen fixed.

(Any prop bets that I’ve missed here? What type of prop bets would fit your Super Bowl Sunday experience? Anybody have any insider information on Fergie’s wardrobe so I can decide if I should wear a cup or not?)

**Photos courtesy of Getty Images and the Associated Press

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The Secret Behind Oprah’s Empire.

2 Feb

Oprah now has her OWN channel. Up next: her OWN currency.

It is common knowledge that Oprah Winfrey is the most powerful woman on the planet. And the second most powerful human, trailing only Facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg. And the third most powerful creature or entity, behind Zuckerberg and Godzilla.

For God’s sake, the woman launched her own television network last month! (By the way, Saturday Night Live creator Lorne Michaels is featured on Oprah Presents Master Class, and it is must-see-TV.) Oprah’s channel should provide a tidy little nest egg for her after she closes up shop on her critically-acclaimed talk show in September, which has aired in every country on Earth for 25 years, as well as the other eight planets in the solar system and 48 of the 63 moons orbiting Jupiter.

(A handful of reputed scientists suggest that Pluto was actually kicked to the galactic curb because it refused to carry Oprah, calling the program “overrated and self-indulgent.” Clearly, that was a poor choice.)

Did I mention that her new television network is called OWN?

So Oprah is crazy wealthy and all-powerful, and by all accounts a generous philanthropist and dignified humanitarian. Hell, I professed my love for the woman back on World Gratitude Day, and I’m sticking to it. She’s the real deal.

What few people realize, though, is how versatile Oprah is. For instance, did you know that she narrated the 11-part Life series which aired on Discovery Channel last year? For those unfamiliar with this program, you are missing out. Just ask Perpetual Motion, our 5-year old resident biologist. We have the entire series recorded on DVR, and he has watched each episode to the point of verbatim memorization.

A few days ago, as P Motion was watching the “Amphibians and Reptiles” episode (again), a segment came on showing incredible footage of an unbelievably tiny toad.

“How much does that toad weigh?” I asked from the kitchen.

“Dad, he said that toad weighs less than a paper clip,” replied P Motion, a bit disgustedly, clicking the quick review button on the DVR remote as proof (sadly, all of our children are capable of that).

“Who is ‘he?’” inquired Kick Ass Wife, who was sitting at the table.

“The guy who is talking on TV,” said P Motion.

“Honey, that’s not a he. It’s a she.”

“No it isn’t. It’s a boy’s voice.”

Besides always moving (you could get motion sickness watching him watch television) and being smart as a whip, P Motion can also be a bit stubborn (not unlike COUGH COUGH his COUGH mother COUGH COUGH). This had the potential to get interesting.

“The person talking on the television is a woman, Reed.”

“How do you know?” The classic kid question. P Motion hit the quick review again, giving his mom a chance to clear up her gender misconceptions.

Kick Ass Wife, through only slightly clenched teeth and in a voice a few decibels below the kids-out-of-bed-for-the-fifth-time roar, said, “I…just…know.”

P Motion watched and listened again. “No. That’s a boy voice.”

“Reed, the person talking on TV is a woman named Oprah Winfrey! She has a talk show and she is probably one of the richest people in the world!” (I was going to add that she has her own television network, as well, but it didn’t seem that important at the time.)

P Motion kind of shrugged and continued watching television, seemingly waving the white flag. Or maybe not.

“Did she get rich because she can talk like a boy?”

Little-known fact: Oprah built at least part of her empire by doing male voice-over work for award-winning nature documentaries.

Who knew?

*Image courtesy of www.oprah.com.

(Any memorable “discussions” with your kids lately? Have you watched OWN yet? Do you think that if Oprah and Mark Zuckerberg teamed up, they could take Godzilla?)

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The 2-year old can’t say “football,” but he can pick winners: Tax Credit #4′s NFL predictions.

23 Jan

Last night, as Tax Credit #4 and I enjoyed a little daddy/toddler recliner time, I flipped over to the NFL Network to see what sort of hard-hitting analysis was taking place less than 24 hours before the NFC and AFC Championship Games. Leading up to kickoff, the entertainment value on those studio shows increases dramatically as the “experts” search for that exclusive little nugget to offer up to viewers.

Let’s send it out to our moderately attractive female reporter, who is in Pittsburgh at the Jets’ team hotel.

Thanks, guys. Earlier today, I examined stool samples from New York’s defensive linemen, and it appears that each ate several whole chickens, bones and all, over the last 12 hours. Clearly, they’re hoping that voracious appetite will help them devour Pittsburgh’s running game.

Also, I talked to Mark Sanchez’s mother in the elevator about 15 minutes ago, and she told me that as a 4-year old, her son threw almost 500 touchdown passes to imaginary receivers in their backyard. Guys, if that’s any indication, the Steelers’ secondary could be in for a long day, and the Jets could be looking at a treat that’s a whole lot sweeter than juice boxes and some of Mrs. Sanchez’s homemade chocolate chip cookies: a trip to Dallas for Super Bowl XLV. From Pittsburgh, I’m moderately attractive. Back to you.

Are you ready for some football? "No."

This was a perfect opportunity to talk a little pigskin with my almost 2-year old. His vocabulary may be limited to one word (“No”), but it does have two meanings (a “No” that means “No” and a “No” that actually means “Yes”). Tax Credit #4 keeps the playbook simple when it comes to conversation, but the kid knows a hell of a lot about football, and pretty much everything else.

“So what do you think: was that reporter moderately attractive?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so either. I’ve only got eyes for one woman who handles fecal matter, and that’s your mom. Which reminds me: did she ever find that Hungry Hungry Hippo marble?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. It too shall pass. Good one, eh?”

“No.”

“You’re right. Too obvious. Speaking of passing, how about Aaron Rodgers? That guy is on fire. Do you think he’s the best quarterback in the league right now?”

“No.”

“Me, too. He’s just got that sort of moxie to him, you know? Tom Brady-like in a non-Justin Beiber sort of way, and Peyton Manning-like in a non-I-always-look-like-I’m-constipated sort of way. Rodgers doesn’t have the hardware that those two possess, but if he can take Green Bay all the way to the Super Bowl, with the injuries that team has had throughout the season and to do it by winning three playoff games on the road, he’ll have supplanted both of those guys as the premier QB. Plus, Rodgers looks like he’s having fun out there. Don’t you love that?”

“No.”

“I do, too. The guy sitting at home trying to watch the game with four little kids hanging off of him begging him to change the channel to Wonder Pets is the one who should have a grimace on his face, not the guy getting paid millions to play a game. Ironically, Rodgers reminds a lot of another #4 in that regard. When he was wearing the yellow and green, Brett Favre always looked like he was having fun. But man, the last two seasons that guy took a beating; he was a human piñata. At least the purple jersey accentuated all of the bruising. You called it on that Vikings-Favre-Moss thing, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Damn right, you did. That whole thing in Minnesota imploded quicker than one of our family trips to Walmart, just like you predicted. And now I read that the Vikings might be going after Vince Young? Really? That’s a good idea on the heels of the Favre-pocalypse?”

“No.”

“It’s a horrible idea. Alright, let’s get to it. NFC champion: Chicago?”

“No.”

“So the Pack will roll into Soldier Field, rip out the Bears’ collective heart, grind it up, stuff a bratwurst with it, eat it, and then wash it down with a Leinenkugel’s? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No.”

“As much as I love Bill Swerkski’s Super Fans (Da Bears) and the Blues Brothers, I’m with ya. Rodgers, Clay Fabio, and the Cheesehead Nation head south to Dallas in two weeks. Now, I was fully behind the Steelers to take out New York in the AFC, but then I saw that Hulk Hogan endorsed the Jets and trash-talking linebacker Bart Scott, who had two total tackles in last week’s win over New England. How can you pick against the former WWF champ? If I could find something in the news saying that Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka had texted Troy Polamalu telling him and the Steelers to go top turnbuckle on Rex Ryan and company, maybe I could pick Pittsburgh. But you’ve gotta go with the Hulkster, right?”

“No.”

“Pittsburgh?”

“No.”

“Alright, the Steel Curtain overcomes the mojo provided by the veteran of the steel cage match. You usually throw a 35-yard strike to the back of the end zone on these things, #4. Odds are, you’re right. Okay, how about these odds: 100-to-1, I can hold off the four-child blitz long enough to watch one of the two championship games in its entirety.”

“No.”

“1000-to-1?”

“No.”

“1,000,000-to-1?”

“No.”

“So you’re telling me there’s a chance. Yes! Those odds stink, #4, but I’ll take ‘em. Hey, something really does stink. Did you just spike one in your diaper?”

“No.”

“Well, luckily you snuck it in just before the 2-minute warning. Let’s go change that thing before you get hit with an illegal formation penalty. Illegal formation? Funny, huh?”

“No.”

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Table for two.

17 Jan

Friday, Kick Ass Wife and I got a night away from home. Some thoughts…

1. EVERYTHING is different without the kids in tow. We had about a two-hour drive to our destination, which involved actual adult conversation and a complete absence of Wiggles sing-alongs. No crying over spilled milk or trouble-shooting malfunctioning Leapsters. No projectiles from the cheap seats hitting the dash. It felt strangely human.

One night away from the crew. (I bet they could use a toothpick.)

Dinner was more of the same. We sat at the bar and ate because we could. We had an appetizer and drinks and were in no hurry to order. When our food came, we savored it, eating slowly and methodically. After eating, we sat and talked some more. There was no rushing. Neither one of us dropped our crayons or dumped all of the sugar packets out or licked the salt shaker.

Okay, I licked the salt shaker.

2. Walking out of the restaurant, I grabbed a toothpick and popped it in my mouth. I always do. Yet, to the best of my knowledge, I have never used a toothpick after eating a meal at home. Do I chew harder in restaurants, driving more food shards in between my teeth? Is it the corn on the cob I have for dessert? Or is it simply because toothpicks are conveniently provided and people have a natural instinct to take things that they perceive as “free,” even if they don’t need them? If there were a cup full of Q-tips sitting there, would I grab one and start swabbing my ear out just because there was a cup full of complimentary Q-tips sitting there?

I may be putting too much thought into this.

3. A scone is not a meal. Ever.

4. Saturday involved a lot of shopping, and I have to say, I held up like a trooper, especially considering that the only thing I ate all day was a scone. My usual shopping posture is to begrudgingly tag along, lean on the racks, and occasionally nod, but I was actually finding items for KAW and offering genuine fashion feedback. I was in the husband-as-shopping-wingman zone.

Apparently, one hot trend in women’s fashion is boots, and KAW was looking to hop on board. I’ll admit that I’m prone to a bit of hyperbole at times, but when I say that we looked at a hundred different styles of boots, what I really mean is two hundred. But I did what I could to help.

Me: “Those ones have a lot of stuff hanging off of them.”

KAW: “Yeah, that’s part of the style.”

Me: “That’s what I meant. They’re perfect.”

5. After the half-day shopathon, we headed to a favorite barbecue joint to eat, and the stars aligned perfectly. We sat in the bar area again. The last five minutes of the Ravens-Steelers game was on, gracing  no less than 23 flat screen televisions, Packers-Falcons immediately to follow. Sam Adams Winter Lager on tap. Did I mention barbecue?

We ate our meal and then KAW went to do a bit more shopping. I stayed behind, sitting all alone at a bar, drinking pints of Sam Adams, watching the Packers dismantle the Falcons. No interruptions. No stress. No kids.

Our reprieve was just a little over 24 hours in length, and it was much-needed. Some “two of us” time revitalized KAW and me, recharged our batteries. We headed home feeling rejuvenated, feeling so fly like a G6 (I have no idea what that means), ready to tackle the “six of us” time with renewed patience and optimism.

That lasted about five minutes.

Would a week have been too much to ask?

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Friday Four: Hitting the pool, a hairy situation, the overnighter, and Vaderoos.

14 Jan

Kick Ass Wife is off to work this morning, so it’s me and the brood today. I hope that there is plenty of gas in the four-wheeler…

#1: …Because we’ll be doing a hell of a lot of this.

When it comes to mechanical things, I’m an idiot savant, minus the savant. But I do know this: one of the greatest contributions to fathering was the invention of the gas-powered engine. When you combine a four-wheeler with snow, a hard-plastic swimming pool, and a nylon strap, you can pretty much pencil in two hours of blissful childcare. (By the way, snow is optional: it works on grass, too.) We hit the pool last Sunday and it was a blast. Here’s a clip of the Hellcat going for a spin.

Admittedly, a 3-year old’s gleeful laugh of exhilaration does sound quite a bit like a 3-year old’s blood-curdling scream of sheer terror when drowned out by a four-wheeler, but I’m 100 percent positive that I’m 51 percent sure the Hellcat was enjoying herself.

She loves it. They all do. Chalk up major bonus points for Dad.

#2: I still think it would have worked.

One of the challenges of having the kids for the day is the fact that I’m responsible for doing something with the Hellcat’s hair. This morning I found a black elastic thing on the floor that I thought might do the trick. I showed it to the Hellcat.

Me: “Hey, Pippy, is this hair thingie yours or Mom’s?”

Hellcat: “Dad, that goes to the sleeping bag.”

Me: “So neither?”

Looks like a hat day.

#3: There will be sleeping.

KAW informed me last night that she arranged for her dad to come up later today and watch the kids so we could get away for a night. Awesome. The funny thing is that earlier this week I’d been trying to line up overnight placements for the kids with the same idea in mind.

This will be a welcome opportunity to have a nice meal together, visit, maybe catch a movie and then go out for a few drinks.

But in all likelihood, what we’ll actually do is lounge around in our hotel room and enjoy the chance to watch some intellectually-stimulating television programming intended for adults, like Jersey Shore. And we’ll sleep. Hopefully no less than twelve hours.

Ahhhhhh…

#4: “Luke, I am your father. Leia, who’s your daddy?”

Oh, and I will be packing my new Darth Vaderoos, compliments of my mom. My plan is to stroll out humming a medley of ”The Imperial March” and bow-chika-wow-wow!

Our family Fruit-of-the-Heirloom: the Vaderoos.

If your brain isn’t overloading with possible lightsaber, “Use the Force,” Jedi-on-Padawan innuendo right now, you probably shouldn’t be reading this blog.

And hopefully, Kick Ass Wife won’t read this blog before tonight, because if she does, there will probably just be more sleeping.

Have a great weekend , everyone. May the Force be with you.

And me.

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Caption This: For those about to rock, we salute you.

13 Jan

I’ve taken a lot of pictures of our kids in six years (some more than others). At last count, we have right around a trillion digital images, a number equal to those witty ”Is it Friday yet? (insert frowney face emoticon here)” status updates posted by Facebook users on any given Monday.

These photographs mainly serve to add additional stress to my life. I constantly worry about losing them due to a technological snafu or a household accident, like one of our children dropping the camera in the toilet. 

Other than fret, I don’t do a lot with these pictures. I suppose some day it’ll be nice to look back on all of these photos and think, “How in the hell did we survive that?” but for for now they are pretty much just files on an external hard drive in a fire-proof safe collecting virtual dust.

Until now. Today, my friends, I am kicking our unused images total down to whatever number is one less than a trillion. My plan is to use at least one more picture per week in a segment called ”Caption This,” which will feature one or more photos of my kids doing something adorable / amusing / disgusting / disturbing / heartwarming / humiliating / possibly illegal /precious /upsetting or, quite likely, all of the above.

This is a terrific format for my writing strength, as well, which is to be moderately coherent in 50 words or less (Twitter Lite would be perfect for me). So I’ll provide four caption options for the selected photo(s) and then ask readers to vote for their favorite. Also, visitors are encouraged to suggest other captions in the comments section, bearing in mind that they are referring to my children, and I’m the only person who has the right to post highly-inappropriate things about them on the Internet, such as when they talk about cherry juice on wieners.

Here’s this week’s pic.

(Look for regular installments of “Caption This,” unless it fails miserably this first time in which case I’ll pull the plug on it faster than Tax Credit #4 can drop his pants.)

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The Family that Plays Together, Stays Together

11 Jan

Imagine waking to a snow-covered wonderland on a wintery Sunday morning.

You stand at your front picture window, hands wrapped around a hot, steaming cup of coffee, drinking in the tranquil majesty of the scene just beyond the glass. Mountains in the distance serve as a backdrop for a landscape that has been transformed by a half foot of fresh powder dropped from the heavens during the night.

It is the type of image that graces postcards with the phrase “Wish you were here…” There is a still and calm and serenity inherent in these types of moments that revitalizes the soul.

And then you hear just the slightest hint of a rumble, but you pass it off as that second bowl of chili you had last night.

However, the noise grows steadily louder. And louder. And closer. And then there are other sounds. Maybe… yes, hooting and hollering. Peculiarly high-pitched, but definitely hooting and hollering. What is…?

And then you see it: some jackass with a child on his lap coming down the lane on a four-wheeler pulling what appears to be a hard plastic swimming pool with a lady and a kid in it who are in turn pulling two little people in snowsuits on two smaller sleds. The only thing missing is a robed, cigar-smokin’, beer-swiggin’ Cousin Eddie standing in the foreground emptying his RV sewage onto your lawn yelling “SHITTER’S FULL!” to complete this scene.

“Sweet Jesus,” you mutter. “Isn’t that illegal?”

I’ve always said, the family that plays together — by tethering hard plastic swimming pools to the back of gas-powered off-road vehicles and yanking one another all over the countryside — stays together.

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Friday Four: Black triangles, a new routine, F-A-R-T, and my water-logged resolution.

7 Jan

Today’s post is going to be short and sweet yet freakishly strong, like a gymnast. Or the Hellcat. Let’s get tumblin’.

#1: Apparently, that’s a snowwoman.

Speaking of the Hellcat, among her many redeeming qualities is expertise in sexual identification. She has clarified for everyone in our family (including my grandmother), as well as a number of friends and complete strangers, their status as males or females by dramatically stating, “You’re a boy because you have a wiener,” or, “You’re a girl because you have a bagina.” It’s always a proud moment as a parent when your daughter correctly identifies the sex of the greeter at Walmart.

Is it a male or a female? Without a black triangle, who knows?

Yesterday, KAW and the kids were making snowmen out of construction paper. As the Hellcat worked on hers, KAW noticed that she had cut out a small black triangle.

KAW: “What’s that triangle for, Pippy?”

Hellcat: “It’s her bagina.”

KAW “Okay…we probably don’t need to put that on our snowmen.”

Hellcat: “Mom, she’s going to have pants on.”

Well, in that case…

#2: We put our pants on six legs at a time, just like everybody else.

Kick Ass Wife took a part-time job as a literacy tutor. A couple of weeks before Christmas, the principal of a local elementary school (as opposed to an elementary school in Guatemala) called and asked if she would be interested in a teaching position that had come available for the second half of the year. He said he would be flexible with schedules, days, hours: basically, whatever it would take to get her in there, he would accommodate.

Before taking a timeout to hang with our crew at home, KAW had taught at the elementary level for ten years. Not surprisingly, in addition to being a Kick Ass Wife, Kick Ass Mom, and Kick Ass Cake Maker, KAW is a Kick Ass Teacher, as well, THAT teacher you would want your child to have. Just so much ass kickage for one individual. Really, it’s sort of sickening.

So she and the principal got together, worked out the logistics, and she’s back in the saddle again (not the stirrups, thank God). KAW is excited, which is really good to see. It’s a great opportunity for her and our family.

It’s also a significant change for our family. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we now have to be out of the house, loaded in vehicles, and on the road by 7:15. All six of us. Up until this point, Slim and I were the only individuals in the house who had to be reasonably coherent by that time (which is questionable with Slim in the mornings). It has definitely been an adjustment.

To get four little kids dressed, fed, toothbrushed, jacketed, hatted, shoed, packed and strapped is a bit of a chore at any hour, much less just after seven in the morning. One of the major challenges is kids’ natural aversion to wearing shoes and coats, which I’ve lamented before. You get one ready to go and turn to find that two others have stripped down again. It can be a bit maddening.

Honestly, though, the new routine hasn’t been too bad. The kids have been troopers. But then again, they almost always adjust to change more seamlessly than we do as adults. Maybe there’s something to learn there.

Nah, probably not.

#3: Vocabulary 101

"I just fawped."

Learning, or more specifically teaching, was taking place yesterday at breakfast, as well. Slim was attempting to expand Tax Credit #4’s vocabulary using his sister as an intermediary.

Slim: “Pippy, tell Finn to say fart.”

Hellcat: “Finn, say fart.”

Tax Credit #4: “Fawp.”

Me: “Hey, you guys, don’t tell him to say that.”

Slim: “Pippy, tell him to say F-A-R-T.”

Hellcat: “What?”

Spelling matters.

#4: My New Year’s resolution is to go to the bathroom more frequently.

Okay, my resolution is actually to drink more water, but increased urination is a nice secondary achievement.

I know, an underwhelming goal to have, but I need something that is realistically achievable, and downing more H2O fits the bill. In my opinion, setting one’s self up for failure isn’t a good way to start a year. I have other goals, but I’m starting with water consumption and easing into it.

Actually, this was my resolution last year, as well, but I didn’t specify water. It was just to drink more, and I did do that, but the benefit to my overall health was questionable.

Bottoms up to a great weekend, everyone.

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