I'm not running anymore - Part 2 - Viva La Vida

You can read Part 1 of I'm not running anymore by poking that magic finger here.

"Daddy, are you going to buy beer?" Ethan asked as we walked into Kroger.

"Yes." I said as Wy Wy climbed up onto the shopping cart.

"Wy Wy. Do you have to hang onto the cart like that?" I said pointing at the warning label thing on the cart. "Everyone will give me dirty looks for being a bad father. It's dangerous to ride like that."

"He can sleep in my room." Wy answered.

The Younger Boy was a broken record regarding the lost bandana wearing dog we had saved from becoming road kill a few hours in the rearview.

"She can sleep in your room --- if the owner doesn't turn up by night night time." I explained. "I think they will though, because Daddy got a hold of someone that knows a lot of people in our neighborhood and she sent out an email describing the dog with all of our contact information."

"Daddy, is he going to be ok?" Ethan asked as he climbed up onto the other side of the shopping cart.

"Yes. She's in the backyard with Ruby." I said "They were getting along fine. Ruby's in charge. We'll be cool."

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"She can sleep in your room if the owner doesn't call or email me by tonight." I explained again. "Do you guys have to ride on the cart like that? Seriously, all the moms are going to give me dirty looks."

"Daddy, are you going to buy beer?" Ethan asked again.

"Yes, bub, Daddy is going to buy beer. Daddy is going to buy a lot of beer." I said as I steered the cart with the Boy(s) hanging onto the sides into the store, careful to dodge the dirty looks from the moms in our path.

I should note here, before I get much further into our story, that the Elder Boy is into collecting things. His latest collectable item is bottle caps. Namely beer bottle caps. Thus he is always asking or requesting that I buy or drink beer so he can acquire new bottle caps for this collection (he keeps them all, and he has many, in a hat box My Lovely Bride gave him.)

This hobby is innocent enough, but often comes off as odd, especially when the Boy asks me at say, breakfast, if I'll drink a beer. Or when we enter a store. Or when he asks me to ask the bartender or waitress to dig through the trash for bottle caps.

As we neared the beer cooler area of Kroger, Ethan de-carted and ran over to the the beer display.

"Daddy!" Ethan yelled. "How about this one?"

Thankfully there wasn't any moms around the cooler area to give me a dirty look. The store was pretty dead that Sunday afternoon since the Cowboys were playing.

"Son," I said. "Not so loud. And no."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because that's not beer. That's a wine cooler." I said. "Daddy doesn't drink wine coolers."

"How about that one, Ethan?" Wy said hanging from the shopping cart.

"This one Wyatt?" Ethan said grabbing a Rolling Rock bottle out of a six pack container.

"Dude!" I said grabbing the bottle out of his hand, "Be careful, that's glass, let me show you the cap."

"Where is it from Daddy?" he asked.

"Pennsylvania." I answered. " I don't want to buy Rolling Rock though. I get veto power, remember."

"Oh. Ok." Ethan answered grabbing a Leinenkugel out of a six pack holder. "How about this one?"

"Sorry. That's a wheat beer that has berry in it." I said. "It's chick beer. Veto."

"It's got an indian on it." Ethan said.

"Let me see Ethan." Wy said from his dangerous perch on the shopping cart.

"It's Leinenkugel. From Minnesota or Wisconsin." I said. "Some of their beer is good. But that's a chick beer. Look the Indian is even a chick."

"Oh." Ethan said.

Ethan walked up and down the beer aisle, shouting out requests for the various beers. He handled even more. As I watched him, I noted from time to time, a head poking around the end cap of the cooler. Checking us out. After the fourth poke I started to walk around the end to see what was what when Ethan said, "Daddy, I want to get this one."

"No way." I said. "That's an Ultra. It doesn't even have carbs. There's no way I'm drinking that crap. Beer should have carbs."

"Cars?" Ethan asked.

"No. C A R B S." I explained as that head poked around yet again. "Some people don't like to drink carbs because of their diet which is silly. If you don't want carbs, don't drink beer. Drink something else."

"Oh." he said.

"You guys stay here, I'll be right back." I said walking around the end cap to explore the poking head.

Only I didn't make it. I was stopped cold because the end cap cooler had a special beer display where you could buy single bottles of beer to make up your own variety six pack.

It was/is nirvana for a beer nerd and his bottle cap obsessed progeny.

"Sweet mother of all that is good!" I said.

"What!?!?" Ethan and Wy Wy asked in unison. "What is it Daddy?"

"Boys, come here. This is what I was telling you about the other day." I said.

Ethan walked around the end and looked at the cooler expectantly. Wy blew me off and stayed perched, dangerously, on the cart.

"What?" Ethan asked.

"See all those beers." I said.

"Yeah," he said.

"Ethan! What is it?" Wy yelled from the cart.

"I don't know Wyatt." Ethan said.

"Listen," I said.

"See all these bottles. They are here so you can pick one of each and make your own six pack."

"Oh." Ethan said, not truly getting it.

"Boy." I said. "We can pick six different bottles of beer which will get you six different bottle caps."

Ethan laughed. A strange, kind of crazy, mildly obsessive, but happy, laugh.

"What is it Ethan?" Wy yelled, curious enough to jump off the cart and run over to the end cap.

Ethan stopped laughing and looked at me, with a quizzical, are you messing with me look.

"Really?" he said.

"Really." I said. "I wouldn't joke about beer. But remember..."

"What?" he asked.

"I still get veto power." I said.

The Boy went nuts, running up to the cooler, grabbing single bottles of beer.

"Daddy! Daddy! I want this beer! And this beer! And this beer!" Ethan shouted.

Not to be out done Wy grabbed a Tecate and shouted, "Daddy, I want this beer!"

"Guys! Guys!" I said. "Slow down. You can both get beer. We'll all get what we want."

Which is when Dear Reader, the head poker revealed himself. If memory serves correct, the name badge on the goofy Kroger vest said Doyle, and Doyle was Assistant Manager.

"Can I help you sir?" Doyle asked in a not very friendly way.

"No." I said. "I think we're good."

"Oh." Doyle said giving me a skeptical look.

Fuck me! I thought. Doyle must have seen the Boy(s) riding free style on the shopping cart and be even more pissed than the moms who usually glare at me.

"We're cool." I said.

"Daddy?" Ethan said. "I want this beer."

And that Dear Reader is when I finally got why Doyle thought that I needed help.

Ever the dip shit in real time, I had not realized, until that very moment, our innocent hobby sounded criminal to a casual listener, like Doyle, who must have thought that I was shopping for beer we were all going to imbibe.

"Oh." I said.

"The Boy collects bottle caps. He likes for me to buy different beers, so he gets different caps." I explained.

Doyle said nothing. He just gave me this, I'm calling CPS on your ass look.

"It's a hobby for him." I said.

"Daddy," Ethan said.

"What." I said, scared that he'd say something else to incriminate me.

"I don't have this bottle cap, do I?"

"No," I said smiling at Doyle in a I told you sort of a way, "You don't have that bottle cap. I'll get that beer."

"Have a nice day, sir." Doyle said as he walked back from whence he came (whence being the chip aisle.)

"Daddy," Wy said climbing back onto the cart.

"Wy!" I said. "Don't ride on the cart like that. I'm going to get arrested, or lose my Kroger reward card."

Fast forward an hour, me with a variety 12 pack trying to push my way into our backyard to open the back door.

"Get back, Ruby." I said as I pushed her aside and made my across the patio. I was about to put the key in our backdoor when I realized (again, I'm slow in real time) that something was amiss.

"Holy shit!" I said, putting the beers down.

"What? What? What?" the Boy(s) asked in unison.

"Where's the bandana wearing dog?" I asked, running to the side of the house to see if she was over there.

Nothing.

"Daddy?" Ethan asked as I ran by him into the garage to see if the bandana wearing dog was in there.

Nothing.

"Daddy!?!?!" Ethan asked. "Where is he?"

"Where is he!?!!?" Wy asked.

"Fuck me." I said.

"What!?!!?" the Boy(s) asked.

"Guys," I admitted. " I think she's gone."

"Where? Where!" Ethan said running around like a chicken with his head cut off, "Here boy, here boy, here boy!"

"BOY!" Wy shouted. "BOY!!!!"

"Guys," I said looking out the back gate into our alley. "I think she's gone."

"How?" Ethan asked.

"BOY!" Wy shouted. "HERE BOY!"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe Ruby ate her?"

Sweet mother of all that is good. That was not the joke we needed to lighten the situation. The Boy(s) freaked. Hard. Father of the year. That's me.

"NO!!!" Ethan screamed running over to grab Ruby.

"Ruby!!!" Wy shouted. "Ruby! Bad dog! Bad dog!!!"

"Guys! Guys!" I said. "I'm kidding. It was a joke. Ruby couldn't, Ruby wouldn't, eat that dog. She must have got out under the fence. If Ruby wanted to get out, she probably could now that I think about it. Maybe that dog heard it's owners calling for it, or realized it needed to go home."

The Boy(s) gave me a skeptical look.

"Guys," I pleaded. "I'm sorry, it was just a joke. Ruby wouldn't eat her. I promise."

Then thinking logic would help my case, "and besides, if Ruby ate her, we could tell, there'd be blood all over the back yard and patio, oh, and that goofy bandana."

Maybe I should be reported to CPS?

I spent the rest of the evening checking email to see if anyone had found the bandana wearing dog and trying to quell the Boy(s) anxiety over losing a lost dog.

Near night night time, Wy was in his bedroom playing a bug game on his new (old) computer.

As if I didn't have enough on my plate, being Mr. Mom, earlier in the day I had rearranged some major pieces of furniture and changed the Boy(s) rooms considerable. Wy had netted E's new (old) computer.

"Daddy," Wy asked.

"Yeah bub," I said.

"I'm so worried about that dog. If he's going to be ok." he said clearly troubled.

"I know." I said.

"I wanted him to sleep in my room." he said.

"I know." I said.

"I'm so worried." he said again.

"Son," I said. "That dog is going to be ok."

"Did he go home?" Wy asked expectantly.

What a loaded question. It would have been easy to lie to the Boy. Tell him yes. That dog was ok. Everything was just fine, and right in the world. That I had got an email from the owner saying (insert fake bandana wearing dog name) was happy and back home. That the owner thanked us for saving her from being hit by a car.

This lie would have assuaged Wy's fears. And made my life easier.

I couldn't do it. I can't lie to the Boy(s).

"I don't know Wy Wy." I said. "I think she might have found her way home, or Daddy would have gotten more emails on her, or we would have seen fliers up around the neighborhood. But in the end I really don't know. I hope she's ok. I'm glad we saved her from being hit by a car."

"Oh." he said and went back to killing ants in his new (old) bug computer game.

I was about to walk out of his room and check on the other Boy who was equally worried about the lost dog we had lost when Wy said, "Daddy,"

"Yeah." I said.

"We saved him didn't we."

"Yeah, we did save her from getting hit by a car." I said. "Then we lost her. Which is kind of funny. I didn't know you could lose a lost dog."

"Daddy," he said.

"Yeah." I said.

"Will Mommy watch me play my game on my new computer when she comes home?"

"If you ask her, I'm sure she'll be happy to watch." I said.

A day later My Lovely Bride was back. My Mr. Mom tour was coming to an end. And as crazy as it had been, I was a little sad about going back to my normal routine as I packed all my crap for work and thought about the past four days.

In the other room I heard Wy ask his Mom to watch him play his new (old) computer game.

"Sure, for a little bit." she said.

"Wy Wy," I asked walking into the room, happy that I had made the changes that netted him the new (old) computer and game. "Which of your new games are you going to show Mom?"

"The bug game," he said. "Where you fight the ants."

"Nice." I said feeling what amounted to pride for holding down the fort and keeping the Boy(s), Ruby the Dog (we'll forget the bandana wearing one, she screws my record) and the house in one piece.

Go me. Mr. Mom. I rock.

Wy smiled at me, nodding his head in agreement that the bug game was in fact nice, and looked at his Mom and said, I shit you not, "I'm going to kill those bastards."

Until I BLOG again...That was when I ruled the world.