You can't catch me 'cause the rabbit gone died'

Another anniversary for Team Tinsley. Rest easy, a rabbit' didn't die in the literal sense. I'm talking bun in the oven.

We've never owned a rabbit. We babysat one back when Carter was teaching at Dover. Floppy?!? Dog Dog fell in love with him. I didnt' care for him that much. He was kind of nuts, and shit everywhere. He later attacked Carter (living up to the crazy as a march hare expression) in some sicko sex crazed bunny fit. But, as usual, I digress.

To the point.

One year ago, to the day, we found out that Carter was pregnant with the fetus that would become the Little Warrior. It came as a surprise. For those who've read Beat It you know that we were fertility challenged the first time around. Took us a very long time to have Boy #1. We had to get help in the medical sense. Based on that, we were under the impression that propagating would still be a struggle. Our plan (if you haven't figured it out by now, we're pretty uptight, us Tinsleys), was to start 'trying' in April and throughout the Summer and if nothing happened by September, go see Doctor Cohen (Female Fertility Doc in Dallas, if you are having fertility issues - go see this man - he is good.)

As I often say, Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.

The rabbit died pretty much the first try. Cart didn't really know she was pregnant for sometime, because, who would have thought it would be so easy??? After two or three Pregnancy Tests, she realized, it was probably really positive.

Thus, I came home one year ago, and on the dining room table, in my 'spot' was the EPT test, showing positive.

My first thought, "Hey, don't you pee on that stick? This is where I eat!" (insert laugh track.) Seriously, I didn't believe it. Made her show me the other two tests, and then we had to go buy (EPT got a lot of our $cratch) more tests and do it again. All positive. Doctor later confirmed that she was pregnant and the due date was January 4, 2004 (Wyatt arrived on December 28, 2003.)

That's the reason we have two beautiful Boy(s) who are less than two years apart. We're not crazy. Or gluttons for punishment. We're two lucky planners - kept on their feet by the craziness that is life.

Until I BLOG again...Boo.

Dig if u will the picture...

Actually, pictures. I uploaded a bunch of pics recently, poke your finger 'here'', if you want to look see.

Cuatro Meses

The Little Warrior is FOUR months today. Had his wellness check-up, and got some shots. For those playing along at home.


Four Month Stats
15 lbs. 7 ozs - 75 percentile.
25 1/2" long - 75 percentile.
16 7/8" ø head

compared to three month stats.

14 lbs. 9.5 ozs - 90 percentile.
25" long - 90 percentile.
16" ø head - 50 percentile.

Until I BLOG again...Be cool.

Beat It

April 25 is, for me, the unofficial anniversary of Team Tinsley. Sure, July 30 is the higher profile anniversary. It is the day that Carter and I were married. Then you have the Boy(s) birthdays (January 17 and December 28 for those playing along at home.) But, for me, April 25, 2001 is just as important - It has a special place in my heart. It is the day, when Team Tinsley began.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

As I mentioned, Carter and I were married on July 30, 1994. Being planners by nature (read: uptight) we had always been in agreement that we would wait a few years until we started our family (read: Team Tinsley.) She was completing her eduction to become a teacher. I was slaving away at BusyBody. We both felt when the time was right, we'd know and then we'd start having kids.

So, fast forward five or so years, everyone in Prince mode, partying like it is, because it was, 1999. The time was right. We promptly quit copulating and started propagating. Time to start the family. Kids. Hey Ho, let's go.

Only problem - Nothing happened.

Well, something happened, but not pregnancy.

So we kept at it. And at it. At it. At it. At it. At it. At it, so on, and so forth. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. Nothing. After trying for some time, It became evident that we had wasted a lot of $cratch on birth control over the years (insert laugh track.) Seriously, it hit us that we were having issues and it was time go to the Doctor(s).

Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.

I won't bore you (today) with the many details of our quest to reproduce. It was long, hard, expensive, sad, and at times, funny. We made progress, had set backs, progress, etc. until we arrive at the date, April 25. Three years in the rearview.

On this day I beat it (read: masturbated) with the end result being ejaculation into a 'medical' cup. I had to then put that cup in my shirt (to keep it warm), and drive to Dr. Bush's office. Dr. Bush is a urologist who specializes in male infertility. Ironic name, isn't it. I dropped off my, um, essence. They did their magic (they spin it or something.) Carter picked it up at 10am and drove (along w/ the cup of spunk in her clothes to keep it warm) to Dr. Cohen's office (he a female infertility doctor) where she had an IUI. Wham bam, Thank you Mam. Not that romantic, but you know what...it got the job done because we had conception.

In fact, Ethan Gentry Tinsley, Boy #1, lived up to his Tinsley-ness (read: uptight) and came into the world 40 weeks to the day of the IUI. Punctuality, it is, so important.

So, Dear Reader. Now you know why April 25 is important to me.

April 25, is without a doubt, the day my Lovely Bride became pregnant with our first child. Ethan a.k.a. Boy #1 (chronological distinction only.) It certainly wasn't a traditional impregnation, but then again, how many people know exactly when conception happened?

For those wondering about our newest member, Wyatt Carter Tinsley a.k.a. Boy #2. The Little Warrior was conceived the old fashion way - by accident. Kidding. But, it is another story. Another time, another place.

Until I BLOG again...Peace.

Brother Bear = Tootsie

The Elder Boy has been wanting to buy Brother Bear. Buy is the same as renting as far as he is concerned. We've been hearing the following for weeks.

"Brother Bear please."
"Buy Brother Bear."
"Me want Brother Bear."
"Brother Bear, Please"

Over and over and over and over. We attempted to buy it this past Saturday night, but there weren't any VHS copies at Blockbuster.

We interrupt this BLOG to bring you a tangent rant: I realize the future is NOW, and that I probably should buy a DVD player. However, it pisses me off that a large corporate entity such as BlCockbuster is forcing my hand by only offering a handful of VHS copies on new releases, while stocking tons of DVDs. They had a wall in the kids section dedicated to Brother Bear. My guess would be 50. 45 DVDs, 5 VHS copies. Join me in giving a collective finger to BlCockbuster!

We now return to my original point...Back to Saturday night, I'm standing in a crowded BlCockbuster (Cart and The Little Warrior are in the car waiting) with my eldest Boy in front of the Brother Bear wall, trying to explain to Ethan that there aren't any Brother Bear movies to buy. 50 cases on the wall would lead you to believe otherwise, but, as you probably know, at BlCockbuster they don't rent movies in their original jackets. Ethan wasn't getting this though, and thought I was ignoring his request. As you can imagine, it wasn't a good scene. After asking one of the BlCockbuster(s) if they had any (just) returned VHS copies of Brother Bear (answer: "NO, but we got 30 DVDs ready to rent!"), I quickly appeased the Elder Boy with a gum ball, and bought Scooby Doo and the Legend of the Vampire.

Fast forward to Wednesday, and every member of Team Tinsley has viewed Scooby multiple times. I for one, have seen it so many times, I think I could star in my own one man production. Not that I'm complaining. We've had some good times watching it. The gripping mystery centering around the kids going Down Under, and getting entangled in a mystery involving the Yowie Yahoo. You haven't lived until you've seen the "Meddling Kids" perform the Scooby Doo theme song at a Lollapalooza-esque concert at Vampire Rock. Speaking of the theme song. Ethan has the curious habit of dancing everytime he hears it. As soon as the song begins, he stops whatever he is doing (he multi-taks, it is a rare occasion to find him just watching tv) and runs in front of the TV and dances. Dances his ass off, actually. Exaggerated arms, hopping around, dancing. As I've BLOGGED before, Dog Dog's bed is pretty close to the TV armoire. Thus, when the Boy starts his clod hop dance, she becomes agitated, and gets up from her bed, and starts to pace around him. From the vantage point of the Sectional, it appears they are dancing together. Funny.

Back to Wednesday. Even though Ethan has enjoyed the Scooby video, he has continued to ask to buy Brother Bear. I decided to swing by BlCockbuster on my way home that night and see if could buy it. Victory was mine. Aside from being a 1st class Dad (Don't forget June 20th Day is Father's Day), I had ulterior motives. Wednesday was BDrunco for Carter. I had Boy(s) patrol. I figured Brother Bear would make my watch a 'bit' easier.

For those sans kids, Brother Bear is a story about three brothers. They are Intuit. World is just coming out of the Ice Age. After a bear takes the life of the oldest brother, impulsive youngest brother Kenai kills the bear in revenge, only to be transformed into a bear himself. Denami, the middle brother, comes upon this bear and, thinking it killed Kenai, vows revenge. Now brother hunts brother and Kenai's only hope for survival is to befriend his own worst enemy, a grizzly cub named Koda. Koda's main goal is to show Kenai the real meaning of brotherhood. It is a story of a boy who becomes a man...by becoming a bear (their line, not mine.)

Didn't I see/hear that somewhere before? As I pondered that thought, duty called; bottle, bath, night night for Boy #2, bath, hot chocolate, books, night night for Boy #1.

Much later, as I lay in bed, drifting off to night night, it hit me.

Brother Bear is essentially the same story as Tootsie.

For those who never seen Tootsie, it is a story of a extremely difficult actor who becomes a woman to get work as an actor. While a woman he falls in love (with a woman) with one of his co-stars, this woman also falls in love with him, but since she thinks he's a she, well - comedy ensues. It is the story of a man who became a better man... by becoming a woman (my line.)

Regardless if you agree or disagree with my Brother Bear = Tootsie summation (chime in Dear Readers, comments are lovely), I think we can all agree on this: I need to buy a DVD player.


Until I BLOG again...Peace.

There should be music, sad, sad music...

As I recently BLOGGED in A cup closer to death, Dog Dog, a.k.a. Sophie isn't doing great. I'm no Dr. Doolittle, but I'm beginning to think that it will be a close race to expiration between Dog Dog and the Dog Food (for those who haven't read A cup closer... scroll down and read it real hard, then come back up here, you hear?)

Then again, I thought we were going to have to put her to sleep last August, which obviously didn't happen. One of the reasons we've struggled with the decision to put her down (I hate that freaking expression, yet I just used it) is because of the Elder Boy.

Example...

This morning, I got Ethan out of bed around 7am. We were walking (actually he was being carried) to the front room. Our den area is where we do most of our living. Dog Dog's bed is next to the hearth. You can't see it, or her, until you walk into the room from the front of the house, hallway, etc. So, we round the corner into the room and Ethan asked, "Where Dog Dog go?"

Insert sad music...like the movies have...

I keep walking and she comes into view on his right. I point to her, and said, "Dog Dog's on her bed, Son." The Boy looks over at her, big smile on his face, "Good Morning Dog Dog." Followed by, "Cock-A-Doodle-Doo Sophie.)*

Until I BLOG again...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Ethanese: Cock--A-Doodle-Doo is synonymous with wake up.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Damn you Oobi!

After a particularly brutal night with the Little Warrior (a.k.a. Boy #2), I was up at the crick of the crack (read: early) with the Elder Boy. He wanted to watch Oobi.

Oobi (see image above, Oobi is on the left) is a curious and gentle four-year-old bare-hand puppet (with eyes and accessories) who discovers the world around him with his three year old sister Uma, and his best friend Kako. Grampu plays the grandpa. Like Oobi, they are all bare hand puppets. Oobi is a regular program in our casa, Ethan digs it the most. I think the reasons is Oobi speaks to his stage (I think the proper term is age-appropriate) of life when everything is new and incredible. Building a block tower, making cookies, using the phone. Oobi is a show about children's first awkward attempt at mastery and meaning. It's a show (like this here BLOG) about the everyday revelations.

So, you ask: "What's the problem?"
I reply: "Instant gratification."
You think: "?"

Best I can figure, being 2 is all about being in the NOW.

So, while watching Oobi one morning (again, after a hard night with Wyatt), Ethan and I are watching Oobi on the sectional. I'm drinking coffee. He's drinking warm chocolate milk.

TV
Oobi and Kako are painting.

Ethan
"Me Paint...Please. Me Paint."

Daddy Says
"You want to paint? Let's watch Oobi, son. It's early. You'll get to paint at School later this morning."

Daddy Thinks
Painting is the LAST thing I want to do at 7:30 in the morning! How can I get him off painting? Maybe I should offer him donuts?

TV
Oobi and Kako are no longer painting, they are now eating pizza.

Ethan
"Me pizza. I'm hungry. Pizza please."

Daddy Says
"We don't have any pizza, son. If you're hungry, how about some (in quick succession, met w/ violent NOs!) cereal, cream of wheat, toast, eggs, pancakes, cereal bar, oatmeal, and waffle."

Daddy Thinks
I could go for some pizza myself - but - I don't think we have any frozen pizza, and best I can figure, Pizza Hut doesn't open until lunch time.

Ethan
"NO, Pizza Please." x10

TV
Oobi and Uma are playing with a toy car.

Ethan
"I want my trucks. Truck please."

Daddy Says
"Get them yourself."

Daddy Thinks
Not the toy cars and trucks. Shit. He's going to get them all over the place and I'm going to have to pick them up before I go to work, and I'm already running late. What time is it? I need to get in the shower. Where in the hell is Carter?

Meanwhile
The Elder Boy walks over to the armoire and grabs a basket full of cars/trucks, and dumps onto the floor - next to Dog Dog's bed/head - she tries to pop up, but her old legs don't work that fast these days. She does a spindly leg Bambi kind of a thing, as she tries to walk around the flotsam.

Daddy Says
"Ethan, don't dump your toys all over the floor Poor Dog Dog. She's scared!"

Daddy Thinks
Poor Sophie. She looks miserable. I think she'd walk her forehead into a loaded gun at this point. We need to put her to sleep.

TV
Oobi is now on the phone.

Ethan
"Me talk on the phone. Call Granny and Poooops."

Daddy Says
"Get Mickey." (we have an old mickey mouse phone that he uses as a toy in our pad.)

Daddy Thinks
Don't fall and hit your head on the F***ing fireplace mantel! I hate that damn thing!!!

TV
Oobi winds up his call (before the Boy can make 'his' call) and the credits start to roll.

Ethan
"NO!!!!!!!!!! Ooobbbbbbiiiii!!!!!!!!!!"

Daddy Says
"It's OK Ethan, Oobi will be on later. Call Granny and Pops"

Daddy Thinks
What's on Noggin next? I hope it's not Miffy.

Ethan
"NO!!!!!!!!!! Ooobbbbbbiiiii!!!!!!!!!!"

TV
Oobi's credits end, and Oobi seques to Moosey Moose, who is Noggin's master of ceremony - between the cartoons.

Ethan is not pleased to see the Moose.



Ethan
"GO away!" (he wants the Moose to leave so Oobi can come back)
"Bye Bye Moose. Go AWAY!!!"

Wild hang gestures, and his famous wave-off...

Daddy Says
"Settle down. It's ok Boy. What do you want to watch?"

Daddy Thinks
Is it to early to have a beer(s)?

At which point, Ethan still wailing for Oobi, only a cup of coffee in me, tired from the Little Warriors antics (he, by the way, is happily in his crib asleep at this point.)

Daddy Thinks & I'm afraid Says
"DAMN YOU OOBI!!!!!!!!!!!"

Until I BLOG again...Peace.

Boy(s)

The Boys both around the 3 month mark in these here, pictures for you. Until I BLOG again. Peace.

One cup closer to death...

A few months in the rear view, on a cool crisp fall evening, the Boy (this was BW - Before Wyatt - he was in utero at this point) and I went to get dog food at Petco. Just your typical week night errand. It was somewhat out of the ordinary in the fact that I often don't run errands on a school night, but not that big of a deal either. Nothing special. Something we do once every month and a half, how ever long it takes Sophie, a.k.a. Dog Dog to go through a 40 pound bag of food. Not that you care about the subtext, dear reader, but the reason I was going to get the dog food, was because my lovely bride was with child, and for those who've been in that condition, lugging a 40lb bag of dog food thru Petco and then to your car is no es bueno. Back to my point. For some reason, the Boy remembers this impromptu dog food run with a great fondness. He'll often look at me and say, "Go buy dog food." I'm not sure if it is because we dinked around Petco looking at the fish, guinea pigs, ferrets, parakeets, etc. which he digs. Or because he got a pay-off of a gum-ball when we were finished? Maybe it was that special one on one time with me? Or could it be the ride over in the 'truck' to get the food? The mind of a toddler is a wondrous thing, something I'm not sure I can or will ever want to fully understand. The point is that he often (we're talking a min. of once a week, sometimes, more) will ask to, "Go buy dog food." He's oblivious if the dog in fact, needs food. He just wants to "Go buy dog food."

"Go buy dog food."

Even farther in the rear view, on a hot sticky summer morning, driving to work, listening to Pat Benetar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot. It hit me. Sophie needs to be put to sleep. My thoughts quickly went from MTV infancy (who can ever forget a young Pat Benetar in her early videos, those skintight leotards with camel toes front and center) to the fleeting reality of time. But that's not the beginning either. It actually starts even earlier, more than a decade in the rear view (are you keeping up?) It began with a brown haired girl, a beat up red Sentra, and a red hand me down doberman, named by an ex-boyfriend, (who by all accounts was a dickhead) in honor of Sophia Loren.

"Go buy dog food."

My first vivid thought of the woman who would become my wife, was (is) the image of her and Sophie zipping down the North Dallas Tollway in a piece of shit Nissan Sentra. Carter and I had just started dating, and I had called her house only to get the answering machine. When she returned the call, she told me she'd been at her parent's house with Sophie and that her and the dog had just came home via the Tollway. Not sure why, but in hindsight, probably the first sign that Cart was the one, as I formed the most vivid image of her and Sophie driving home on the tollway. A picture in my mind. Vivid. To this day, I still remember the image. Quite strange.

"Go buy dog food."

Back to now. Sophie is 14, hell, maybe 15. In dog years, well you can do the math. She's old. Her quality of life has been slowly slipping for the past year. She has good days and bad days. Some days she is befuddled. Others she is bright eyed, and reminds us of a dog half her age. Some days she lies in her bed and whines because she is nervous (or in pain?) We're not quite sure what is going on with her. Other days the elder Boy goes into terrible two mode and terrorizes her. The point. We've been having a dialogue for some time about when we'd put Dog Dog to sleep. Is it time? Now? We don't want her to suffer. Is she in pain? Now? You think you'll know when its time. For us, it hasn't been that easy. Self doubt. Holding on to tight? Not sure. I can honestly say I'd love nothing more than to walk in one morning and to find her peacefully laying on her bed, in the eternal sleep. But, life ain't that clear cut, and easy.

"Go buy dog food."

The other day Carter tells me that she is going to put Sophie to sleep after the current supply of dog food is gone. We have a nearly full, 40lb. bag. She generally gets three cups twice a day. On particularly tough days on Boys patrol, we might forget to feed her twice. Each cup scooped into her bowl brings her closer to the inevitable end. On the surface this sounds cold, and to me (who most know, has a very dark sense of humor) slightly funny. My current gag at the house is to feign throwing out a cup or two of her food when Sophie is driving us nuts to go on a walk, or underfoot when we're dealing with the Boys.

"Go buy dog food."

Like clockwork, Ethan asked again. For me it is a moment of extraordinary poignancy. He's a smart boy, but I don't think his question is akin to a Governor's death row reprieve. Carter is correct (so don't send her any hate Email), it probably is time. There is sound logic in the reasoning to wait until the current bag is depleted. I won't bore you with that here.

"Go buy dog food."

It opened the floodgates. Vivid memories hit me, as well as a fast forward "this is your life" montage of the past 10 + years. From courting Cart, to living in sin with her. Marriage. Life. Kids. Homes. Everything. Sophie was there. But more so, she is a link to the early days. I can look at Sophie and hear her nervously clip clop clopping on the hardwood floors of the Love Shack that Tom Brandt and I rented on Prospect. Thoughts of walking her to the dog park when we lived on Martel. Her fondness for Gert, the little old lady who lived next to our rented pad on Westwood Drive, who fed Sophie bacon treats. Sophie greeted us at the door when we brought Ethan home from the hospital. Sophie was there when we brought home Wyatt. Rolling in the grass in our front yard. Hundreds, hell, thousands (just like all the walks we've taken) of moments with Sophie. As long as there has been a Carter and Stuart. There has been Sophie. I've known that dog nearly as long as I've known my wife. That happy goofy smile in her face/eyes. Sophie. Our Dog Dog.

"Go buy dog food."

Sophie is a connection to a time when Carter was a Kincaid, and Team Tinsley was nothing but a hopeful dream - a maybe?

"Go buy dog food."

I do believe in ET"s (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial - not Boy #1) "I'll be right here." mantra - knowing I'll always remember her - but that doesn't diminish the pain, or the fact that it hurts like hell to think that soon will come a day when we'll be going on a walk, and that damn dog won't be with us.

"Go buy dog food."

Indeed.

Until I BLOG again...peace.

Where's Pecan?

Ice Age has recently been on HBO (one of the six that we have with digital cable - which is kind of crazy.) The eldest boy loves it, but not because of the movie, because of the Scrat.

I agree with his opinion. Ice Age for a children's movie comes off a bit cold (although it does have the obligatory mother's death - what is it about cartoons and the Moms always having to die?) Back to my point. Scrat, in Ethan's opinion is the star of the movie. The little creature is some sort of saber toothed squirrel thing that is trying to bury his acorn (the elder Boy calls it the "Pecan" and therefore it is the "Pecan Movie" to him) for winter. He keeps popping up through out the film in an attempt to achieve this task. His attempts always lead to catastrophic consequences. He opens and closes the movie and has some interludes throughout, but I'd guestimate that Scrat has 10 minutes of total screen time. The movie clocks in at a kid friendly 81 minutes. Therfore, the little Scrat, by my estimates, is only on screen for 12% of the movie. 12 %. Out of the 12%, I'd guestimate (I need a stop watch so next time I watch the Pecan Movie, I can do a proper study) that 8% of that screen time comes at the beginning and end of the film. During the middle of the film there's to much plot - so the little Scrat pops up for a a minute, does his bit, and then leaves so the story came move forward. Ethan hates this. He wants the Scrat - all the time. He calls the Scrat 'Pecan'. So, close your eyes and picture Team Tinsley's den. The elder boy and his dad are recumbent on the sectional, watching the Pecan Movie, and the Scrat is NOT on screen (which again, is roughly 71 minutes out of the 81 - OVER an hour of the below.)

Boy #1: Where's pecan?
Pecan - where go?
Pecan, please....Pecan?!?!
Where pecan?
Me: He'll be back in a little bit son - watch the movie. Look at Sid (he's the funny sloth character.)
Boy #1: Pecan?
Where's pecan? Pecan - where go? Pecan, please....Pecan?!?!
Me: He'll be back in a little bit son...
Boy #1 starting to get agitated: PECAN!?!?!?! Where's pecan? Pecan - where go? Pecan, please....Pecan?!?!
Me: He'll be back in a minute...
Boy #1: Pecan...Pecan...Pecan...etc.

FINALLY - the Scrat reappears - at this point, the Boy usually starts laughing like he's crazy, and often gets so excited, he's up and dancing around the tv. But, as you've probably figured from the above text - the Scrat soon exits stage door left...and we go back to....

Boy #1: Where's pecan?
Pecan - where go?
Pecan, please....Pecan?!?!
Where pecan?
Again, for "71" MINUTES...

Until I BLOG again...

The Little Warrior...

Wyatt, a.k.a. Boy #2 had his three month check up today. For those keeping score at home:
14 lbs. 9.5 ozs - 90 percentile.
25" long - 90 percentile.
16" ø head - 50 percentile.

Doctor Morchower said Wyatt (and Ethan) appeared to be happy, healthy, well adjusted children. This was a nice boost of confidence for me and Cart since, most of the time, we feel like we don't know what the hell we're doing.

Until I BLOG again...

Money, Inc.

I'm a week behind on this here, BLOG entry. Life. Been busy. Work. Home. Work. I have a pretty demanding job both at home and at work...but I still dedicate free time to this here BLOG. I steal a few minutes here, and there on my iBook, writing down my little thoughts. Dowloading my digital pics. Playing with HTML. Documenting our life - right here, now. So, someday, in the fast forwarded future we can look at these pages - and remember when. Still, people often ask me.

"Snake (that's my stage name, in my head at least), how do you find the time, and the energy to do all this web stuff?"

I get a glazed over look and then say.

"Crank.".

Bad joke for a family oriented BLOG...but if you know me, well, you expect this sicko kind of thing. Back to my point, and yes I do have one. One week ago yesterday, we farmed Boy #2 out to Mimi and Papa and took Boy #1 to Disney on Ice: Monsters, Inc. We went with the Horsmans - Brad, Cindy, and E's best gal pal, Autumn. If you know me, you know that I'm a tight ass. I don't like spending money. Monsters, Inc. was nothing but a way to get parents to spend money on crap for their kids. It was criminal. We paid $70 for three tickets. $10 to park. $10 for cotton candy that came with the blue plastic hat that E is wearing in the above pics. $16 for a kid tshirt. $3.50 on popcorn. $10 on beer (yes, I drank at a kiddie event, with songs like 9 to 5, Working for A Living, etc. well, it drove me to drink, and as most know, that isn't that far of a drive!) $119.50. That doesn't include the $50 we spent at Spaghetti warehouse on lunch prior to the show, or the $5 to park! $174.50.

I'd do damn near anything for any member of Team Tinsley. I love my family. But, $174.50 to go see a Skating rehash of Monsters, Inc on ice is criminal. Someone unplug Walt's cryogenic chamber in protest. How does an average income family afford to do anything in this day and age. The show - in case your curious, is literally Monsters, Inc. set to ice. They've cut the dialogue from the movie and use it in the show. You then have these 'actors' in costumes, skating around. Again, they threw in some spare songs - like 9 to 5? You haven't lived till you've seen the citizens of Monstropolis doing some Disco Ice Skating to a bad cover of 9 to 5. I think that's when I got my first beer! Of course, thru all of this, they have hundreds of people selling crap. The show was only 2 hours long, but they still had an intermission. Why? Sell crap. We actually got out pretty easy compared to most - I saw more than one exasperated Mom and or Dad, cave in to their screaming child and buy a $20 icee (Hey, you get a keepsake plastic cup) - yes, ICE with sugar water for $20. Pinch me. Poor parents probably wondering how they are going to pay their phone bill!

I'll let Hamm sum up my thoughts on all this crap that was purchased for mucho dinero. Who's Hamm? He was the dog in Disney and Pixar's Toy Story.

"Yes sir, we're next month's garage sale fodder for sure."

Thus ends my rant on Monsters, Inc. Forever now known to me as: Money, Inc. Did the Elder Boy have fun? Yes. He was done before the show was over - but all in all he had a nice time. But, I'd bet you the $174.50 that I spent that he would have had just as much fun if we had stayed home and I'd have let him play with our water hose in the back yard.

Until I BLOG again.

Golden Shower

Why do I tempt fate? If you've read the BLOG before you'll note that Holy Crap: A Story, followed by Holy Crap: The Sequel culminated with the epic: Holy Crap: Once, Twice, Three Times A Turd. It seemed that after each mention of poop, the wheel of fortune swung my way harder than the previous turn. On March 31 I relayed Ethan's big potty news in More Pee, Please - you'd think I would have been smarter than to tempt Fortuna! Wrong.

Last night I was in a funk. Just bad mood. PISSED. When it came time to do night night time with Ethan, I was pretty much done. Tired. Angry. Stressed. Etc. He (Ethan) does this thing where If I read to him, he'll want his Mom to come in and sing to him before he hangs it up for the day. Last night was no exception, the only thing was (aside from my bitter state of mind) his Mom was bathing Wyatt. I took over half way through the bath, had to rinse his head, clean his nether region, and then I would be done. I did this, and moved him to his towel on the counter. Wyatt did not like the move. He enjoys his rub a dub dub time, and the removal from the baby tub, pissed him off, ROYALLY! He's crying. Loud. A few feet away Carter is trying to get Ethan down for the night. I thought I'd try my Daddy hair trick thingy to see if could get Wyatt to quit. I basically bend over and let my hair fall onto his chest and then shake my head, so my hair tickles him. He generally likes this - but it wasn't working last night. So, I try it more strenously. Meanwhile, due South in the nether region, Wyatt's saftey had come off, his, um gun (read: we put a towel over his penis so he won't spray all the place.) I did not realize this. 2+2 still equals 4, and the Boy started peeing. Remember, he's crying, so the force of it (I guess, I'm no engineer) made the stream powerful. Here I am, bent over doing the Daddy hair trick when a jet of urine plasters me across my hair, all over my massive forehead, eyes, nose (thankfully I had my mouth closed), etc. I jumped up and back, and the torrent continued, this time all over Wyatt. He pissed all over his own face, eyes, and I'm afraid to say, in his own mouth. I wish I could say I was embellshing this story to yuk it up for you, dear reader. I'm not. I got urinated on by my three month old son and in the process he peed all over himself. This is the first time (in my 2.3 years of Daddydom) that I've had this happen to me. I'm usually all over the penis danger issue- but last night, with my 'pissy' attitude, well Fortuna is a cruel mistress, but she does have an ironic sense of humor.

Daddy Note: Wyatt quit crying when he peed all over himself. I guess the warmth? I hope he doesn't grow up to be into that sort of a thing? I'll have myself to blame!

Until I BLOG again...