Daddy Mac will make you Jump Jump

A moon or so in the rearview, I was paying bills at the crick of the crack (read: early.) I tell you that for this; I was in front of computer in our main living room (not our family room.) I was also in a bad mood.

So, there I sat, 6:20am, cup of coffee in one hand. Gas bill in the other. I was pissed that the gas bill was so high, considering that the messoplex had been global warming scary warm all damn winter. That's when I heard the first bump. Loud. Followed by three more successive bumps.

I was thinking to myself, 'what the...,' when I heard the Elder Boy's bedroom door fly open and smack the wall, as he came running down the hallway into the den which was dark.

"Dad?"
"Boy. I'm in here, paying bills. In front of the computer."

It is a well established fact in the Casa, even the Youngest member of the Team knows, that Dad is a bitter angry man when he is paying bills. So, with a fair amount of trepidation, Ethan said, "Oh."

The sound of his oh, along with the fact that he was still standing in the dark den hurt. The Boy was afraid to come into the room while I was paying bills because he figured I'd be uptight angry man. I suck. Feeling ashamed I said, "It's OK Boy, I'm not in a bad mood." Which was a lie, I was (and still am) angry at those profiteering rat bastards at Atmos Energy. "I'm about done anyway. What's up?"

Reassured, the Boy rounded the corner and came into the room and annouced, "I got dressed all by myself."

Good golly, Dear Reader, the Boy had in fact got dressed.

I should point out that although Ethan is old enough to do this feat himself, he usually wants my assistance to get dressed. I actually like to get him dressed. Yet another shiny example of my not wanting to let go and trying to hang onto him being a little boy for a little longer.

The Boy. He's playing me. Hard. He knows I'm a softie (his Mom is not by the way) and figures, why dress myself if Dad will do it for me.

Whatever the case, on this fine morning, at the crick of the crack, the Boy decided to get dressed without my assistance and was so proud he wanted to show me his work. Checking out his ensemble, I said, "Very good Ethan. You did a great job. Give me a high five."

As we smacked hands in front of the computer, I noted that my praise was a bit premature. You see, the Boy had his pants on backwards.

I was about to say something about it, when I thought better, and figured, what the hell. Not that big of a deal. The Boy is proud, why crush his initiative. Roll with it.

Roll I did. I figured My Lovely Bride would would right the ship later in the day. I assumed she'd get him to put them on proper when he put them back on after taking a dump (he has the curious habit, which I think, might be a kid thing, of taking his pants completely off when he takes a crap.)

As usual, I was wrong. When I got home that afternoon the Boy's pants were still on backwards. While he was busy running amok in the backyard with his brother, the Little Warrior, I asked my Lovely Bride, "Why are the Boy's pants still on backwards."

The answer. "He likes it." OK then.

Fast forward and the Boy continued to put his pants on backwards when he dressed himself. So much so, that it clearly wasn't a rookie mistake. It was in fact his preferred way to wear any sweat or warm-up type pants. He wears his jeans normal. I figured, maybe it was an around the house thing. Wrong. The Boy suited up on a school day with his pants on backwards. That was more than I could take. Fearing peer pressure for him and me (what were his teachers going to think?) I tried to reason with the Boy.

"Ethan," I said, "Do you really want to wear your pants backwards to school? Won't the kids make fun of you."
He looked at me, nonplussed, as if I was the one that had a problem, and said nothing.
"Son, why do you want to wear them backwards?"
"I like it." OK then.

Sitting there, stumped, I decided, that it really wasn't that big of a deal. So what if the Elder Boy wears his pants backwards. It doesn't matter what other people think. I know he's not daft. And even if, I love the Boy. No matter what, pants forward or backwards.

Still, and even after my internal pep talk, I was worried about the peer pressure. Silly. That's what I was thinking, when I had an idea. Finally, my monkey brain and plethora of useless trivia could help the Boy (and me) with a defense in the form of a joke which is my normal MO.

"Boy," I said. " If anyone makes fun of your pants being on backwards, tell them this; I'm kicking it old school, like Kris Kross!"

OK then.

Until I BLOG again...Belive dat.

Man In The Mirror

I guess Michael Jackson was pretty damn serious about that whole I'm going to start with the man in the mirror thing. Me too. Not in the going to have my nose removed from my face way. I'm talking about the changing on the inside sort of way. Reflection.

You see, two things happened recently. I got in a fight with my Lovely Bride (even though it might sound like it in this here BLOG, it ain't all sunshine, lollipops and Care Bears skipping through Casa Tinsley) that was based on our two, drastically different perceptions on how I've been acting. It freaked me out, to be honest. Am I crazy, or is she. Probably me. I was asking myself that, when my Monkey Brain ran up the Johari Window tree. You see, I had received an email from a colleague asking me to do a Johari Window for him. The JW is a model for mapping personality awareness. You describe yourself from a fixed list of adjectives, then ask your friends and colleagues to describe you from the same list. Then a grid of overlap and difference can be built up. Man in the mirror.

So, if you are game, and have the time to waste, and know me (that would probably help) go here, and pick the five or six words from the list (make sure that the box changes color so you know it is selected) that you think describe me the best. When you are done, go down and put your name in the little field thingy and click the button and bam. Done. You can even do you very own Johari Window. It is free.

Until I BLOG again...If you wanna make the world a better place.

Zoinks!

One fine Saturday a few weeks in the rearview, I was being like Fonzie. Not in the cool sense. I mean in the bathroom as your office sense. You see, Dear Reader, I had left the rest of the Team in the front of the house and retired to my office to take care of some business. Even though it is a cliche, the truth is, the bathroom is the only room in the house I can enjoy some solitude when the rest of the Team is up and around.

So, there I sat, on my number 2 throne of impotence, reading a magazine, when I heard Ethan and Wyatt running down the hall. He was saying something about a monster in one of our closets. Then the Elder Boy said, "Daphne, you go see if the monster is in there."

"Daphne? Who's Daphne?" was what I was thinking when the Elder Boy, ever the straw boss, told the Younger Boy to hold his flashlight higher so they could find the monster. The Younger Boy apparently didn't comply, and Ethan then yelled, "Wyatt!" At which point, I heard the two of them run back down the hall toward the front of the house.

Intrigued by what I had heard, I decided to leave my fortress of solitude and see what this Daphne was doing in my bedroom. Opening the bathroom door, I immediately ran into the Elder Boy who was running back down the darkened hallway with a flashlight in his hand. Right on his heels was the Little Warrior, who also had a flashlight.

The Elder Boy greeted me with an excited, "Dad! We're playing Scooby. Mom is Daphne. Wyatt is Velma..." At which point Velma ran around his brother and into the bedroom with Daphne to inspect the closet with his flashlight. "...We're looking for monsters. I'm Scooby. You want to play?"

"Sure," I said, "Sounds like fun to me." Then figuring myself a good Shaggy to Ethan's Scooby, I stupidly asked. "Who can I be?"

The Elder Boy looked at me, and without missing a beat, said, "You're Fred."

Sweet mother of all that is good. Did I miss a rim shot, or the laugh track? Fred. Fred? Fred? The Elder Boy thought I would make a good Fred?

I guess at the end of the day, Ethan and his Mom are even more alike than I thought, as they both think I'm funny.

Until I BLOG again...Ruh-roh.

Those are some great names

I feel like I'm always disclaiming myself in this here BLOG, which is sort of silly, still, like that creepy old David Coverdale once sang, here I go again: I'm a twisted man with a sick sense of humor.

Why else would I be standing in a Toys 'R Us store thinking about porn? Serioulsly. Porn. On a Sunday afternoon. I'd even been to church that morning. But, there I stood, in the middle of Toys 'R Us with the rest of the Team around me, thinking about porn. Sweet mother of all that is good - what is wrong with me?

Now before you hop off your machine and contact CPS or start an on-line petition to have me castrated, let me say in my defense, that I'm not turned on by toy stores. That's not why I was thinking about porn. I'm not some sort of sicko pedophile that gets all torqued up by that sort of thing. Hell, as my Lovely Bride can attest, I don't even own any porn. Truth be told, I'm not even real sure where you would get porn. Sure, I've seen those porn shops on the side of the highway, but I'm usually doing the over the hills and through the woods thing when we pass by those places, and well, I don't think stopping in would be real appropriate on the way to grandma's house. Plus, they probably aren't real kid friendly. No play area for the Boy(s) while me and my Lovely Bride shopped. I actually am very intrigued by what actually does go on in those places, as they always have a full parking lot. It can be 6am on Sunday and those places are packed. But, hey, I'm digressing real hard here.

Back to me standing in the Toy 'R us store thinking about porn. I'm not a raving pervert. I'm not a connoisseur of pornography. Why would I be thinking about such salacious material in a Toys 'R Us of all places?

Simple. I was in the Rescue Heroes aisle looking at names like: Jack Hammer, Wendy Waters, Rocky Canyon, Rip Rockfellow, Captain Cuffs, Perry Shute, Kenny Ride, Seymour Wild and Gil Gripper, while the Elder Boy was deciding which Rescue Heroe to purchase. Standing there with him, reading off the names so he could make an educated decision, I kept thinking to myself, damn, this sounds like a roster of porn stars from some Boogie Nights universe. Then I saw one movie title in particular, and bam, the Rescue Heroes = Porn Stars association was cemented in my sick head.

Rocky Canyon in, "Rock and a Hard Place."

I know, I'm sick. Sorry.

Until I BLOG again...I want a name I want it so it can cut glass, y'know, razor sharp.