I place a delicious looking plate of spinach and cheese quesadillas in front of Lucy. She takes a few bites before looking up at me…
“Daddy, these tastes awful.”
“Hey, that’s not a nice thing to say. Awful is a pretty mean word and I worked really hard on those.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. These tastes disgusting.”
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
You Better Recognize
I refuse… flat out refuse to blame Cathy, my loving wife, for her crude assumption, lack of couth, class and respect toward a dedicated husband who after close to one year has painstakingly acquired all the finite skills necessary to be called a
stay at home dad Domestic Engineer. Instead, I think I’ll blame America. Oh wait, scratch that! Society, I want to blame society. No wait, maybe it’s culture related? Which means it’s probably more an extension of specific family traditions observed on some sort of regular basis and passed down from generation to generation. Blah, that doesn’t seem right either. Well, I’m set on blaming somebody soooo…eeny-meeny-miney I blame Apolo Anton Ohno.
You read it right! I’m blaming Apolo. I blame him for his god-awful charisma, boyish good looks and alien mouth complete with 50 blindingly white, perfectly symmetrical and unusually hypnotic teeth. Damn you Ohno, damn you for making us care about speed skating! Look, it makes perfect sense. For 2 weeks he was everywhere, wooing us with his charm. Once the Olympics were over it was a no-brainer that an evil backlash would occur. Those who were drawn deep into those pearly whites must’ve had an unexpected withdrawal. Yup, that’s it, Cathy had some sort of post-traumatic Ohno withdrawal, and she took it out on me.
What can I say? I’m afragile man, with real honest and complex feelings motives. I spend my days laundering, scrubbing, shopping, mopping, cooking and pushing around Swiffers (Which are rumored to be made from some sort of wizard/alien technology, mass produced by a secret government agency consisting of Vampires and the cast of Saved By The Bell… minus Mario Lopez). I do this so our house maintains a healthy balance of “lived-in” and “Army barracks.” I do this for us, I sweat for us! I sacrifice my dry cracked hands, so that the weekends can be spent as a family with my buddies at a bar. I’ll be honest, and feel free to ask around, but some might say that a man of this caliber doesn’t exist. I guess I’m sorta like the Holy Grail, or Big Foot. I’m the mother-load of man, who quite frankly, doesn’t think that he’s getting the respect he deserves.
Seriously, I workhard! Would flowers a 6-pack be that bad of a gesture? How about a quiet wild night out? Dinner at La Creperie The Chili Hut, followed by a romantic comedy movie with Matt Damon and guns? All I’m saying is that after a full day of house work and kids, an acknowledgment of awesomeness is essential. In fact, any combination of nice, gratitude, appreciation, devilish innuendos or beer works. That’s right, all of these things say I love you (some more than others), but all work. Which brings us to last Tuesday and Cathy's Ohno-less Rage.
She didn’t have to say it. I mean, she was probably right to say it; it’s just that she should’ve said something else first, anything, an icebreaker. Something like, “My, the floors look nice,” or “My, your biceps look huge today.” Honestly, I could think of a hundred pleasant ways to say hello. Now don’t take this out of context, I don’t need to be praised every day, but Tuesday was different. Tuesday I was on top of my game. Chores were done, laundry folded, the house was clean and I was feeling pretty good. That is until Cathy walked through door and said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what is that god awful smell?” Startled, I turn around to find her pointing an indignant finger at me choking out the sentence, “Did you just take a bath in a tub of homeless feet and skunk meat?” I didn’t know what to say, I was at a loss of words really. What was her problem, why was she mad and more importantly, what in the world was she smelling? Looking over at my wife, who had suddenly keeled over and was now beginning to dry-heave and drool all over the dining room floor, it hit me. I wasn’t happy about it, but I understood- - I understood.
Imagine you’re home alone, pushing through a box of wine and watching reruns of The Ghost Whisperer on TBS. You’ve just changed out of your professional clothes and into that disgustingly-comfy, stained and tattered I’m not leaving the house outfit that screams either “I’m homeless,” “I’m crazy,” or “I’m homeless, because my imaginary dog Keith convinced me to sell my sneezes in front of the post office.” Everything’s perfect, ‘cause your happy, and you’re happy ‘cause you’re relaxed and because you’re relaxed, you fart.
Don’t be ashamed, or act like you’ve never put a stinky in the couch, because you have. And yes, it’s understood that the first one will always be a dynamic toe-curler with the slight undertones of boiled frog and molasses. But after that, you’re pretty much immune and unfazed by any other smell or flatulent that may occur during that particular session. On the other hand, this little theory does not apply to the occasional passerby, unexpected guest or loved one who happens to walk into your O-zone depleting, nose hair singeing, ghost-of-dinners-past cloud of death. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
Every bit of pungent vapor you produce actually gets stronger and more obtrusive to every other human on this planet. And rests assure this holds true for ALL smells. For this reason alone, walking into a situation like this can be a real character builder. Honestly, this can be an emotionally haunting experience between friends, or a hysterical chance encounter by strangers. The key is figuring out how to maintain a certain amount of empathy in this potentially delicate situation. It would be rude to so quickly accuse someone of violating the strict EPA regulations in regards to personal /community pollution without all the facts. The assailant could very well have a serious medical condition.
Now, back to Tuesday…
I watched in horror as Cathy alternated between an uncontrollable spastic-gyration, the fetal position and demonic accusations that included, but were not limited to, “Are you burning a wet dog?” and “Did you mop the floors with hot milk and tuna?” I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, none-the-less I was insulted. Who does she think she is, kickin' down the door and condemning me of foul play? How rude. All I’ve done today is everything! She had no right to assume that I was responsible in any way, shape or form for the horrendous odor wafting through this house. Sure, I was wearing my soft polyester track suit, and yes I was halfway through my cardboard encased wine, and yes the girls and I were confined alone in a house after an odd broccoli and bean lunch, so what! I was sorry, truly sorry that she had to experience that, but I mopped the floors and folded laundry! I deserve some recognition. I deserve to be validated, but more importantly I deserve to relax.
You read it right! I’m blaming Apolo. I blame him for his god-awful charisma, boyish good looks and alien mouth complete with 50 blindingly white, perfectly symmetrical and unusually hypnotic teeth. Damn you Ohno, damn you for making us care about speed skating! Look, it makes perfect sense. For 2 weeks he was everywhere, wooing us with his charm. Once the Olympics were over it was a no-brainer that an evil backlash would occur. Those who were drawn deep into those pearly whites must’ve had an unexpected withdrawal. Yup, that’s it, Cathy had some sort of post-traumatic Ohno withdrawal, and she took it out on me.
What can I say? I’m a
Seriously, I work
She didn’t have to say it. I mean, she was probably right to say it; it’s just that she should’ve said something else first, anything, an icebreaker. Something like, “My, the floors look nice,” or “My, your biceps look huge today.” Honestly, I could think of a hundred pleasant ways to say hello. Now don’t take this out of context, I don’t need to be praised every day, but Tuesday was different. Tuesday I was on top of my game. Chores were done, laundry folded, the house was clean and I was feeling pretty good. That is until Cathy walked through door and said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what is that god awful smell?” Startled, I turn around to find her pointing an indignant finger at me choking out the sentence, “Did you just take a bath in a tub of homeless feet and skunk meat?” I didn’t know what to say, I was at a loss of words really. What was her problem, why was she mad and more importantly, what in the world was she smelling? Looking over at my wife, who had suddenly keeled over and was now beginning to dry-heave and drool all over the dining room floor, it hit me. I wasn’t happy about it, but I understood- - I understood.
Imagine you’re home alone, pushing through a box of wine and watching reruns of The Ghost Whisperer on TBS. You’ve just changed out of your professional clothes and into that disgustingly-comfy, stained and tattered I’m not leaving the house outfit that screams either “I’m homeless,” “I’m crazy,” or “I’m homeless, because my imaginary dog Keith convinced me to sell my sneezes in front of the post office.” Everything’s perfect, ‘cause your happy, and you’re happy ‘cause you’re relaxed and because you’re relaxed, you fart.
Don’t be ashamed, or act like you’ve never put a stinky in the couch, because you have. And yes, it’s understood that the first one will always be a dynamic toe-curler with the slight undertones of boiled frog and molasses. But after that, you’re pretty much immune and unfazed by any other smell or flatulent that may occur during that particular session. On the other hand, this little theory does not apply to the occasional passerby, unexpected guest or loved one who happens to walk into your O-zone depleting, nose hair singeing, ghost-of-dinners-past cloud of death. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
Every bit of pungent vapor you produce actually gets stronger and more obtrusive to every other human on this planet. And rests assure this holds true for ALL smells. For this reason alone, walking into a situation like this can be a real character builder. Honestly, this can be an emotionally haunting experience between friends, or a hysterical chance encounter by strangers. The key is figuring out how to maintain a certain amount of empathy in this potentially delicate situation. It would be rude to so quickly accuse someone of violating the strict EPA regulations in regards to personal /community pollution without all the facts. The assailant could very well have a serious medical condition.
Now, back to Tuesday…
I watched in horror as Cathy alternated between an uncontrollable spastic-gyration, the fetal position and demonic accusations that included, but were not limited to, “Are you burning a wet dog?” and “Did you mop the floors with hot milk and tuna?” I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, none-the-less I was insulted. Who does she think she is, kickin' down the door and condemning me of foul play? How rude. All I’ve done today is everything! She had no right to assume that I was responsible in any way, shape or form for the horrendous odor wafting through this house. Sure, I was wearing my soft polyester track suit, and yes I was halfway through my cardboard encased wine, and yes the girls and I were confined alone in a house after an odd broccoli and bean lunch, so what! I was sorry, truly sorry that she had to experience that, but I mopped the floors and folded laundry! I deserve some recognition. I deserve to be validated, but more importantly I deserve to relax.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Week Of
LBN's new semi-regular feature about the things, thoughts and conundrums overheard during the course of a week. Otherwise a bunch of small instances that are good enough to mention, but didn't necessarily deserve a whole story.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Due to weather, distance and prior commitments the LBN team settled on this particular weekend to celebrate Christmas with my family in Michigan.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
After opening a slew of dust covered presents, Cathy decides to give Lucy a heart shaped bag, full of heart shaped candies and heart colored flowers.
"What's this?" Lu asked, looking over the red and pink package.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Cathy shouts. Lucy seems - - surprised. She looks at us, the heart bag, a pile of discarded wrapping paper and finally her newly stacked gifts. Maybe it was all too much for her to take in, but as she methodically unwrapped the foil from a Hershey Kiss, I notice a glint in her eye and it's unmistakable. It's a look that comes only once a year, a look of bliss and whimsical wonderment. It is joy, happiness and love. My friends, it is none other than the Christmas Spir….
"Valentine's Day is awesome!" Lucy screams. As I grit my teeth in horror, I now realize our grievous mistake. Celebrating Christmas on Valentine's Day proved to be a little too confusing for a three year old. It was all too clear that someone is gonna be very upset next year when the only present she gets on Valentine's Day is a cartoon themed box of mystery filled chocolates, courtesy of Russell Stovers.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Somewhere on I-94 between Battle Creek and Kalamazoo I briefly roll down the window next to Ruby for the sole purpose of eliminating a "smell." When Cathy looks over her shoulder to the back seat a few minutes later she notices something's missing.
"Ruby, where is your hat?" Lucy looks up from the book she'd been reading, "Oh yeah, it flew out the window."
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
"Daddy, do you want to hear some Knock-knock jokes? I made them up myself, you can tell your friends if you want, but they are really-really funny." I cannot tell you how many doubts I have about her ability to put together any sort of coherent joke, riddle or what-have-you. But since it is in my good nature to share my living hours with the whole world, no need to thank me and you're welcome.
Lu: Knock-Knock.
Me: Who's there?
L: Sun
M: Sun who?
L: Sun can you give me a shine and a hot on it? (She laughs hysterically as she finishes the "punch-line." I tell her it's funny, she has more).
L: Knock-Knock.
M: Who's there?
L: TV
M: TV who?
L: TV can you watch and give me a hot on it? (Again, she laughs hysterically. I laugh because it's like the first one except different).
L: Knock-Knock.
M: Who's there?
L: Couch
M: Couch who?
L: Couch can you give me a hot ride on it? (She pauses. I don't laugh, it's getting a bit redundant and I don't really get where all the "Hot" stuff is coming from). Let me try another one.
L: Knock-Knock.
M: Who's there?
L: Table (It's clear that's she's just looking around the room and putting good furniture in her bad jokes).
M: Table who?
L: Table can you give me a hot ride and smash your face on it? Is that funny huh?! (I laugh nervously).
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
After struggling aloud for dinner ideas, Lucy speaks up.
"Daddy, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I don't know. What are you thinking?"
"Donut Holes for dinner."
"Nope, can't say I was."
Thursday, February 18, 2010
After an extensive search of the bathroom for an adult type shampoo, I realize the only option is Lucy's Hello Kitty shampoo. Two hours later I realize that the irritating odor of "old-woman" perfume, blueberries and Ben-Gay is in fact my burning head.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Cathy rolls over at 6 am and asks why it smells like a 90 year old woman gumming ribbon candy in a beige sansabelt pantsuit has been in our room? I don't respond.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
After washing my hair for the fourth time in 2 days, I decide that the only way to rid myself of the fragrance that I can only describe as a mix of Mickey Rooney's armpit and nursing home sheets is to shave my head. For the next 4 hours, Ruby cried every time I walked into the room.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
"Daddy, do you have a job?"
"Yeah, I think you could call spending all day watching you and Ruby a job." After a few seconds of what I assumed to be the silent process of weighing both the magnitude and responsibility that comes with being a parent she responds….
"I'm sorry; maybe one day you can learn how to drive a blimp.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Due to weather, distance and prior commitments the LBN team settled on this particular weekend to celebrate Christmas with my family in Michigan.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
After opening a slew of dust covered presents, Cathy decides to give Lucy a heart shaped bag, full of heart shaped candies and heart colored flowers.
"What's this?" Lu asked, looking over the red and pink package.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Cathy shouts. Lucy seems - - surprised. She looks at us, the heart bag, a pile of discarded wrapping paper and finally her newly stacked gifts. Maybe it was all too much for her to take in, but as she methodically unwrapped the foil from a Hershey Kiss, I notice a glint in her eye and it's unmistakable. It's a look that comes only once a year, a look of bliss and whimsical wonderment. It is joy, happiness and love. My friends, it is none other than the Christmas Spir….
"Valentine's Day is awesome!" Lucy screams. As I grit my teeth in horror, I now realize our grievous mistake. Celebrating Christmas on Valentine's Day proved to be a little too confusing for a three year old. It was all too clear that someone is gonna be very upset next year when the only present she gets on Valentine's Day is a cartoon themed box of mystery filled chocolates, courtesy of Russell Stovers.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Somewhere on I-94 between Battle Creek and Kalamazoo I briefly roll down the window next to Ruby for the sole purpose of eliminating a "smell." When Cathy looks over her shoulder to the back seat a few minutes later she notices something's missing.
"Ruby, where is your hat?" Lucy looks up from the book she'd been reading, "Oh yeah, it flew out the window."
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
"Daddy, do you want to hear some Knock-knock jokes? I made them up myself, you can tell your friends if you want, but they are really-really funny." I cannot tell you how many doubts I have about her ability to put together any sort of coherent joke, riddle or what-have-you. But since it is in my good nature to share my living hours with the whole world, no need to thank me and you're welcome.
Lu: Knock-Knock.
Me: Who's there?
L: Sun
M: Sun who?
L: Sun can you give me a shine and a hot on it? (She laughs hysterically as she finishes the "punch-line." I tell her it's funny, she has more).
L: Knock-Knock.
M: Who's there?
L: TV
M: TV who?
L: TV can you watch and give me a hot on it? (Again, she laughs hysterically. I laugh because it's like the first one except different).
L: Knock-Knock.
M: Who's there?
L: Couch
M: Couch who?
L: Couch can you give me a hot ride on it? (She pauses. I don't laugh, it's getting a bit redundant and I don't really get where all the "Hot" stuff is coming from). Let me try another one.
L: Knock-Knock.
M: Who's there?
L: Table (It's clear that's she's just looking around the room and putting good furniture in her bad jokes).
M: Table who?
L: Table can you give me a hot ride and smash your face on it? Is that funny huh?! (I laugh nervously).
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
After struggling aloud for dinner ideas, Lucy speaks up.
"Daddy, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I don't know. What are you thinking?"
"Donut Holes for dinner."
"Nope, can't say I was."
Thursday, February 18, 2010
After an extensive search of the bathroom for an adult type shampoo, I realize the only option is Lucy's Hello Kitty shampoo. Two hours later I realize that the irritating odor of "old-woman" perfume, blueberries and Ben-Gay is in fact my burning head.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Cathy rolls over at 6 am and asks why it smells like a 90 year old woman gumming ribbon candy in a beige sansabelt pantsuit has been in our room? I don't respond.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
After washing my hair for the fourth time in 2 days, I decide that the only way to rid myself of the fragrance that I can only describe as a mix of Mickey Rooney's armpit and nursing home sheets is to shave my head. For the next 4 hours, Ruby cried every time I walked into the room.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
"Daddy, do you have a job?"
"Yeah, I think you could call spending all day watching you and Ruby a job." After a few seconds of what I assumed to be the silent process of weighing both the magnitude and responsibility that comes with being a parent she responds….
"I'm sorry; maybe one day you can learn how to drive a blimp.
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