The Little Warrior is 9 months today. Funny, how we count months for the little guys, the first two years, and then it just goes away. I guess there are others out there as math challenged as me. Kind of hard to keep up after you pass the 24 month mark. That is the mason dixon line on the whole month vs. years as far as I can tell. But, what do I know??? Imagine if you asked me my age and I said, I'm 446 months on Tuesday! You'd think me queer (strange, not homosexual.) You'd probably think the same thing if you asked the Elder Boy's age and I said he is...(and quickly started to compute how many months he was by counting on my fingers and toes - an Okie abacus if you will)...33 months last Friday! We just say 2 1/2, which isn't actually the truth, he's closer to 3 years at this point. But I think your age is one of the few times you don't round up, if that makes sense. But, again, what do I know, I'm a dumbass in the math department. I flunked geometry. I can't even spell a-l-g-e-b-r-a without looking it up first. I do know this...for those playing along at home.
At the 9 month mark the Little Warrior is just a few ounces south of 21 pounds. He is 29" long (or tall now that he pulls up), and his head is 18". He ranges from the 75 percentile to the 50 percentile with those figures.
Until I BLOG again....AAAAAAAAAAA (do a War Cry in his honor!)
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Got a Photograph, picture of...
Shutterfly action for August/September for the Team.
Until I BLOG again...Oh, look what you’ve done to this rock ’n’ roll clown.
Until I BLOG again...Oh, look what you’ve done to this rock ’n’ roll clown.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Goodbye Papa please pray for me.
My Grandpa Gentry died 19 years ago today. I was 18. This is the flip year. A bigger anniversary than say, a 10 year or 20 year, for me at least. Its also Gordon Tipton's Bday (read: childhood friend.) Strange days indeed to be hit with those two memories as I drove to work this AM and heard the date. I don't want this to be a morbid BLOG. So, in my Grandpa's honor, I'll tell a funny story about him. Illustrates the kind of guy he was - and It also involves squirrel(s), and as you probably know if you read this here BLOG, I'm obsessed with the squirrel(s).
Mom and Pop went to Hot Springs, Arkansas most spring breaks when I was a young Boy. I stayed with my Grandpa and Grandma Gentry in the Hall Edition when I was to young to stay by myself. Since I was not in school - it was spring break, I dicked around outside most of the time. My Grandpa had an old BB Gun that he used to shoot sparrows mainly. He had a war against the sparrows, similar to mine with the squirrel(s). The sparrows got into his martin house. Martins were good (they ate bugs), sparrows bad. Anyway, I'd take this old BB Gun, that didn't have much power, and shoot it at shit. Mainly the fence. That fence still stands actually, and I'm always amazed to see the old BBs stuck in the wood. Like a time machine. Anyway, I was grab assing around with the BB Gun and across the yard in this HUGE tree in the neighbors yard - Steve's yard - was a squirrel. The squirrel was running down a big branch. Fast. Doing squirrel things. He had to be 300 yards or more, and then, 100 or so up in the tree. I whipped the BB gun around and did this John Wayne-esque hip shot. Blindly. Deadeye Dick. The squirrel (remember - it was running) dropped like a ton of bricks. The BB Gun wasn't powerful. From 300 yards away I doubt it would break skin on a person. But, for whatever reason, this freak shot hit the squirrel just perfectly in the head, or eye, who knows and killed him dead dead dead.
I freaked.
Steve (the neighbor) liked the squirrel(s). He actually fed them. If he had a problem with the squirrel(s) he'd be the kind of guy that would trap and then relocate them. He wasn't a tree hugger per se, hell there probably still isn't a Whole Foods in the entire state of Oklahoma. But, my point. He liked the squirrel(s).
Meanwhile, the squirrel is dead in his yard. There's no way I can risk getting him without doing some serious trespassing, and well Steve freaked me out for some reason. He was kind of like that Wilson character on Home Improvement. I don't think I ever saw his face, but I knew of him, and he was creepy to me for some reason that I can't even begin to remember. I just remember the fear.
So, I quickly put the gun back in my Grandpa's little tool house, shed thingy. And went inside to watch tv. This is before Cable liberated daytime television for kids. Soap Operas and some spare sitcom (probably Gomer Pyle) on one of the UHF channels that were always snowy at my Grandparents home. I went back out and dicked around, rode my bike, etc.
I come back later and I'm out in the breezeway of the carport when I hear the phone ring. Don't think much about it. My grandpa comes out the back door, and gives me a stern look, and says its Steve, from next door, wants to speak with me about a squirrel.
WHAT!?!?!!?!
I nearly shit my pants. Freaked me out - hard. I didn't know what to say. All I knew is that I didn't want to take the call. I stood there, deer in headlights, stammering for what felt like minutes, until my Grandpa Gentry (this is my Mom's Dad - the elder Boy, Ethan Gentry Tinsley, gets his middle name from my Mom's Surname - nod to her and my Grandpa) let down his facade and cracks a sly easy grin letting me know that it was just a joke.
Still pretty funny after all these years. He was a cool guy. I miss him. Wish he could have met my Lovely Bride, seen my Boy(s). Been around longer. He died just a few months shy of 70. Seemed old then, but not so old now.
I still 'till this day, don't know how he knew about the squirrel. I was so relieved at the time I didn't even think to ask him. I was just glad that creepy Steve wasn't on the phone for me. As a matter fo fact, other than the joke, nothing was ever said again about the squirrel incident.
Until I BLOG again...SQUIRRELS!!!
Mom and Pop went to Hot Springs, Arkansas most spring breaks when I was a young Boy. I stayed with my Grandpa and Grandma Gentry in the Hall Edition when I was to young to stay by myself. Since I was not in school - it was spring break, I dicked around outside most of the time. My Grandpa had an old BB Gun that he used to shoot sparrows mainly. He had a war against the sparrows, similar to mine with the squirrel(s). The sparrows got into his martin house. Martins were good (they ate bugs), sparrows bad. Anyway, I'd take this old BB Gun, that didn't have much power, and shoot it at shit. Mainly the fence. That fence still stands actually, and I'm always amazed to see the old BBs stuck in the wood. Like a time machine. Anyway, I was grab assing around with the BB Gun and across the yard in this HUGE tree in the neighbors yard - Steve's yard - was a squirrel. The squirrel was running down a big branch. Fast. Doing squirrel things. He had to be 300 yards or more, and then, 100 or so up in the tree. I whipped the BB gun around and did this John Wayne-esque hip shot. Blindly. Deadeye Dick. The squirrel (remember - it was running) dropped like a ton of bricks. The BB Gun wasn't powerful. From 300 yards away I doubt it would break skin on a person. But, for whatever reason, this freak shot hit the squirrel just perfectly in the head, or eye, who knows and killed him dead dead dead.
I freaked.
Steve (the neighbor) liked the squirrel(s). He actually fed them. If he had a problem with the squirrel(s) he'd be the kind of guy that would trap and then relocate them. He wasn't a tree hugger per se, hell there probably still isn't a Whole Foods in the entire state of Oklahoma. But, my point. He liked the squirrel(s).
Meanwhile, the squirrel is dead in his yard. There's no way I can risk getting him without doing some serious trespassing, and well Steve freaked me out for some reason. He was kind of like that Wilson character on Home Improvement. I don't think I ever saw his face, but I knew of him, and he was creepy to me for some reason that I can't even begin to remember. I just remember the fear.
So, I quickly put the gun back in my Grandpa's little tool house, shed thingy. And went inside to watch tv. This is before Cable liberated daytime television for kids. Soap Operas and some spare sitcom (probably Gomer Pyle) on one of the UHF channels that were always snowy at my Grandparents home. I went back out and dicked around, rode my bike, etc.
I come back later and I'm out in the breezeway of the carport when I hear the phone ring. Don't think much about it. My grandpa comes out the back door, and gives me a stern look, and says its Steve, from next door, wants to speak with me about a squirrel.
WHAT!?!?!!?!
I nearly shit my pants. Freaked me out - hard. I didn't know what to say. All I knew is that I didn't want to take the call. I stood there, deer in headlights, stammering for what felt like minutes, until my Grandpa Gentry (this is my Mom's Dad - the elder Boy, Ethan Gentry Tinsley, gets his middle name from my Mom's Surname - nod to her and my Grandpa) let down his facade and cracks a sly easy grin letting me know that it was just a joke.
Still pretty funny after all these years. He was a cool guy. I miss him. Wish he could have met my Lovely Bride, seen my Boy(s). Been around longer. He died just a few months shy of 70. Seemed old then, but not so old now.
I still 'till this day, don't know how he knew about the squirrel. I was so relieved at the time I didn't even think to ask him. I was just glad that creepy Steve wasn't on the phone for me. As a matter fo fact, other than the joke, nothing was ever said again about the squirrel incident.
Until I BLOG again...SQUIRRELS!!!
Thursday, September 16, 2004
sopa de ardilla
Let's pretend. I invite you over to Casa Tinsley. I'm cooking. Some ethnic looking soup. I don't cook that much, but when I do, its usually something ethnic. So, in this fantasy land you wouldn't be that surprised to find us eating something a bit different. Imagine, eating it, knowing me, it is rather spicy. I'd pair it with a nice hoppy beer to cut said spice. We're eating, enjoying, talking. You start wondering what we're eating...so you ask.
"Stu, what is this. It's pretty good. I just can't put my finger on what it is..."
I reply, "Sopa de ardilla."
In this pretend world - you didn't have the benefit, like yours truly, of Senorita Davis' 11th Grade Spanish class. So, I help you with the translation, "squirrel soup."
Pretend time is over. Now I ask - what would you do? Would you feel sick? Gag. Be pissed at me for feeding you squirrel meat in a spicy soup? Laugh? Not care? What would you do?
I drive my Lovely Bride nuts with these silly "what would you do" exercises. You probably think I'm nuts for posing such a goofy scenario. Why in the world would I feed someone squirrel? Where in the hell would I get squirrel? Last time I looked they didn't sell it at the Piggly Wiggly. Actually, the answer is quite simple. I'm from Oklahoma. Most Okies hunt, and most are taught that you only hunt (or kill) what you will eat. Some sort of code. Thus, if I kill a squirrel in my warped mind you should eat it. You're probably wondering what in the hell that has to do with me serving squirrel soup in some fantasy land dinner. Perhaps I should back up a bit.
I have a squirrel problem. I've decided to fight back - reclaim my back yard from the little bastards. If you've read my BLOG before, this is what I was referring to in the I been one poor correspondent BLOG. One of the reasons I haven't BLOGGED much lately. I've been fighting the good fight, and as promised, here is the whole sordid story.
George W. has his war against terrorism. I have mine against the squirrel(s). Not to get political, but I think they are both hopeless causes. Trying to win against an 'ism' is damn near impossible best I can figure. Same thing with the squirrel(s). I think the only way I can ultimately win is to cut down the majestic, old pecan tree in my back yard. That would be equivalent to cutting off my nose to spite my face, or however that saying goes. Sort of like trampling on the Constitution a la the Patriot Act. Shit, I guess I am getting political. A skinny Michael Moore. I'll quite that tangent. Let's talk about my enemy, the squirrel. I really don't care that much about George W. even though I'm from Texas.
As I've typed, we have a majestic, old pecan tree in our back yard. The neighbors just West of us have an even bigger one that partially hangs over our property. Squirrel(s) love pecans and spend a good deal of time in these trees. For the first six years that we've been at Casa Tinsley, I've been cool with the squirrel(s) doing squirrel things. Annoyed, yes. But, I've been tolerant. I'm not big on killing things. Never was a hunter. I went through my killing stage as a kid in Oklahoma. BB Gun, sparrows, blue jays, a few snakes. I massacred some giant frogs once. I have serious regret about those incidents. My blood lust. Probably on my Top 5 list of things I wish I could hop in the Time Machine and fix. Back to the point. About 15 years ago, I decided, I wasn't going to kill anything I didn't have to kill. I'm talking anything. I've been known to catch a bug and set it free. Now, before you get political on me while reading this - I'm not some tree hugging Whole Foods dirt eater. I eat meat. Fish. Someone is killing those things for me. I wear leather. I'm not on some moral crusade, just a personal decision to not harm anything if I don't have too. So even though I was greatly annoyed by the Squirrel(s) I decided on a live and let live policy.
That was until 2004 rolled around. Faced with a bumper crop of pecans, the Squirrel(s) descended on our property like a swarm of locusts. Bastards. They would spend the day eating the pecans, and throwing down their trash, all over the patio, yard, house, etc. That's something I didn't get until I had my very own pecan tree. The squirrel(s) like green pecans. In cartoons (where I get most of my info) they always have the mature nut. That ain't the way it is in the real world. Once they are ready to harvest, where a human would want to eat them, have to crack them, the squirrel(s) is off to something else. Probably wires in your attic. Bastards. I guess they can't get at the pecan as easily. The prefer the young, immature, green pecan. They live to munch on it from sun-up to sun-down, eating a small portion of it and then dropping the rest down. I have dents in my lawn chairs from their refuse. Shit, I've been Chicken Little, and bopped on the head. Stepped barefoot on a sliver. You name it. We could make our backyard a hard hat area from late July to October. It is that bad. So, after a particularly bad day I walked out and saw the crap all over my patio, backyard, etc. and decided, then and there, I was declaring war on the squirrel(s). I was done. Bastards.
Now - just because I was done, didn't necessarily mean I wanted to kill them. Disgusted, yes. Blood thirsty, not quite. I was more interested in convincing them to move onto greener pastures. Find a nice park. Another pecan tree. Relocate. First thought was that I could trap them. But, I decided this was to much work, and a little odd. Remember, I'm not a tree hugger. BB Gun? Nope, might actually kill one. Not sure if I'm ready for that discussion with Ethan if I was lucky enough to hit one of them. Probably would be injured and I'd end up nursing the damn thing back to health. Be like George from Seinfeld, squirrel strapped to me in a Baby Bjorn - if you dig that reference.
I'd been throwing things at the squirrel(s) for a few weeks, amusing them more than much else, not hitting them, when it hit me. Wrist rocket (read: sling shot)! I had one as a kid. Was pretty decent with it. I'd probably never kill anything, just annoy them. So - on one fine Sunday I loaded up the Little Warrior and we were off to Oshman's to purchase a wrist rocket. $7 later, I was in the backyard ready and waiting.
The squirrel(s) must have sensed something because they were gone. I waited. Patiently. Drank beer. Waited. Finally - one was up eating my pecans, I took aim (with a pecan I might add - I liked the karma of using it for my ammo) and fired away. Missed, bad, but I did get his attention. He was on the run. I was in business. This went on for about a week...slowly the squirrel(s) knew that they should scram when I was around. Out of 100s of shots, I actually hit 2 squirrels. And, as I had hoped, neither was hurt. Just annoyed. I came close a bunch, causing them to drop their contraband pecans which to me was better than actually hitting them. Side note, my neighbors probably think I'm crazy as I'm yelling "Squirrels" and or "Bastards" often when I'm on the hunt...when my blood is up, and I'm after the damn vermin like some pyscho Elmer Fudd. Ethan even helps me spot them. It is glorious backyard fun. Back to the story.
My war was going well - until about a week ago. I had the enemy spotted, low on a tree. Had him in my sight, loaded a fresh pebble (I'd pretty much exhausted my pecans on the ground supply by this point) and pulled back....snap. My wrist rocket broke. I was impotent again. Squirrels 1. Stu 0. My only weapon was my rage as I yelled "SQUIRRELS!!!" Out of commission.
The squirrel(s) are smart, they must have had a meeting the next morning because they were out in mass. Acting as if nothing had happened the past two weeks. Busy, it took me a few days to get another Wrist rocket (to be honest, I almost got a BB Gun in my anger at the squirrel(s) - but better judgment won in the end.) Back in business.
The next morning I was up and out waiting. I saw a fat little bastard running their squirrel Ho Chi Minh trail. Yes, my obsession had become so great I was thinking in Vietnam terms. The squirrels were Charlie, and the tree trail from my neighbors pecan, to mine, and then to a huge elm tree in my neighbor's yard to the East was their Ho Chi Minh trail - a regular squirrel highway. I've watched them so much, I could chart if for you. I'm obsessed. Ask my Lovely Bride. Anyway. From any of these trees, they can hop to the power lines that run the alley and hop over into the trees on the South Side of the Alley. Cambodia if you will, and yes, Like Tricky Dicky Nixon, I have no problem bombing the bastards on the other side. That's where they come from, hide. Everythings fair in love and war - right? They are crafty little bastards. The squirrel(s).
At any rate, the little fat bastard sees me, and starts up my tree. He has a big fat green pecan he's trying to eat. I get off my first shot nearly hitting him. This gets his attention, and he starts for the power lines trying to get across to the other side of the alley. He's not so freaked that he wants to lose his pecan though...so he's trying to take it with him. I reload and sight him as he's doing his high wire act. Another great shot that just misses his ass, and hits the wire causing it to move...which nearly knocks him off, but, being a squirrel, he catches himself easily, but not without losing his prized green pecan. Take that squirrel(s)!!!!!! This pisses him off. He stops, turns toward me. Staring me down in some sort of primal squirrel rage, flicks his tail around like his kind does, and starts barking at me. Probably "MAN!!!!!" in squirrel. I smile as I reload and take aim (missing of course) but he knows the war is back on - and hops across the border to fight another day. Squirrel(s). Bastards.
Until I BLOG again...SQUIRRELS!!!
"Stu, what is this. It's pretty good. I just can't put my finger on what it is..."
I reply, "Sopa de ardilla."
In this pretend world - you didn't have the benefit, like yours truly, of Senorita Davis' 11th Grade Spanish class. So, I help you with the translation, "squirrel soup."
Pretend time is over. Now I ask - what would you do? Would you feel sick? Gag. Be pissed at me for feeding you squirrel meat in a spicy soup? Laugh? Not care? What would you do?
I drive my Lovely Bride nuts with these silly "what would you do" exercises. You probably think I'm nuts for posing such a goofy scenario. Why in the world would I feed someone squirrel? Where in the hell would I get squirrel? Last time I looked they didn't sell it at the Piggly Wiggly. Actually, the answer is quite simple. I'm from Oklahoma. Most Okies hunt, and most are taught that you only hunt (or kill) what you will eat. Some sort of code. Thus, if I kill a squirrel in my warped mind you should eat it. You're probably wondering what in the hell that has to do with me serving squirrel soup in some fantasy land dinner. Perhaps I should back up a bit.
I have a squirrel problem. I've decided to fight back - reclaim my back yard from the little bastards. If you've read my BLOG before, this is what I was referring to in the I been one poor correspondent BLOG. One of the reasons I haven't BLOGGED much lately. I've been fighting the good fight, and as promised, here is the whole sordid story.
George W. has his war against terrorism. I have mine against the squirrel(s). Not to get political, but I think they are both hopeless causes. Trying to win against an 'ism' is damn near impossible best I can figure. Same thing with the squirrel(s). I think the only way I can ultimately win is to cut down the majestic, old pecan tree in my back yard. That would be equivalent to cutting off my nose to spite my face, or however that saying goes. Sort of like trampling on the Constitution a la the Patriot Act. Shit, I guess I am getting political. A skinny Michael Moore. I'll quite that tangent. Let's talk about my enemy, the squirrel. I really don't care that much about George W. even though I'm from Texas.
As I've typed, we have a majestic, old pecan tree in our back yard. The neighbors just West of us have an even bigger one that partially hangs over our property. Squirrel(s) love pecans and spend a good deal of time in these trees. For the first six years that we've been at Casa Tinsley, I've been cool with the squirrel(s) doing squirrel things. Annoyed, yes. But, I've been tolerant. I'm not big on killing things. Never was a hunter. I went through my killing stage as a kid in Oklahoma. BB Gun, sparrows, blue jays, a few snakes. I massacred some giant frogs once. I have serious regret about those incidents. My blood lust. Probably on my Top 5 list of things I wish I could hop in the Time Machine and fix. Back to the point. About 15 years ago, I decided, I wasn't going to kill anything I didn't have to kill. I'm talking anything. I've been known to catch a bug and set it free. Now, before you get political on me while reading this - I'm not some tree hugging Whole Foods dirt eater. I eat meat. Fish. Someone is killing those things for me. I wear leather. I'm not on some moral crusade, just a personal decision to not harm anything if I don't have too. So even though I was greatly annoyed by the Squirrel(s) I decided on a live and let live policy.
That was until 2004 rolled around. Faced with a bumper crop of pecans, the Squirrel(s) descended on our property like a swarm of locusts. Bastards. They would spend the day eating the pecans, and throwing down their trash, all over the patio, yard, house, etc. That's something I didn't get until I had my very own pecan tree. The squirrel(s) like green pecans. In cartoons (where I get most of my info) they always have the mature nut. That ain't the way it is in the real world. Once they are ready to harvest, where a human would want to eat them, have to crack them, the squirrel(s) is off to something else. Probably wires in your attic. Bastards. I guess they can't get at the pecan as easily. The prefer the young, immature, green pecan. They live to munch on it from sun-up to sun-down, eating a small portion of it and then dropping the rest down. I have dents in my lawn chairs from their refuse. Shit, I've been Chicken Little, and bopped on the head. Stepped barefoot on a sliver. You name it. We could make our backyard a hard hat area from late July to October. It is that bad. So, after a particularly bad day I walked out and saw the crap all over my patio, backyard, etc. and decided, then and there, I was declaring war on the squirrel(s). I was done. Bastards.
Now - just because I was done, didn't necessarily mean I wanted to kill them. Disgusted, yes. Blood thirsty, not quite. I was more interested in convincing them to move onto greener pastures. Find a nice park. Another pecan tree. Relocate. First thought was that I could trap them. But, I decided this was to much work, and a little odd. Remember, I'm not a tree hugger. BB Gun? Nope, might actually kill one. Not sure if I'm ready for that discussion with Ethan if I was lucky enough to hit one of them. Probably would be injured and I'd end up nursing the damn thing back to health. Be like George from Seinfeld, squirrel strapped to me in a Baby Bjorn - if you dig that reference.
I'd been throwing things at the squirrel(s) for a few weeks, amusing them more than much else, not hitting them, when it hit me. Wrist rocket (read: sling shot)! I had one as a kid. Was pretty decent with it. I'd probably never kill anything, just annoy them. So - on one fine Sunday I loaded up the Little Warrior and we were off to Oshman's to purchase a wrist rocket. $7 later, I was in the backyard ready and waiting.
The squirrel(s) must have sensed something because they were gone. I waited. Patiently. Drank beer. Waited. Finally - one was up eating my pecans, I took aim (with a pecan I might add - I liked the karma of using it for my ammo) and fired away. Missed, bad, but I did get his attention. He was on the run. I was in business. This went on for about a week...slowly the squirrel(s) knew that they should scram when I was around. Out of 100s of shots, I actually hit 2 squirrels. And, as I had hoped, neither was hurt. Just annoyed. I came close a bunch, causing them to drop their contraband pecans which to me was better than actually hitting them. Side note, my neighbors probably think I'm crazy as I'm yelling "Squirrels" and or "Bastards" often when I'm on the hunt...when my blood is up, and I'm after the damn vermin like some pyscho Elmer Fudd. Ethan even helps me spot them. It is glorious backyard fun. Back to the story.
My war was going well - until about a week ago. I had the enemy spotted, low on a tree. Had him in my sight, loaded a fresh pebble (I'd pretty much exhausted my pecans on the ground supply by this point) and pulled back....snap. My wrist rocket broke. I was impotent again. Squirrels 1. Stu 0. My only weapon was my rage as I yelled "SQUIRRELS!!!" Out of commission.
The squirrel(s) are smart, they must have had a meeting the next morning because they were out in mass. Acting as if nothing had happened the past two weeks. Busy, it took me a few days to get another Wrist rocket (to be honest, I almost got a BB Gun in my anger at the squirrel(s) - but better judgment won in the end.) Back in business.
The next morning I was up and out waiting. I saw a fat little bastard running their squirrel Ho Chi Minh trail. Yes, my obsession had become so great I was thinking in Vietnam terms. The squirrels were Charlie, and the tree trail from my neighbors pecan, to mine, and then to a huge elm tree in my neighbor's yard to the East was their Ho Chi Minh trail - a regular squirrel highway. I've watched them so much, I could chart if for you. I'm obsessed. Ask my Lovely Bride. Anyway. From any of these trees, they can hop to the power lines that run the alley and hop over into the trees on the South Side of the Alley. Cambodia if you will, and yes, Like Tricky Dicky Nixon, I have no problem bombing the bastards on the other side. That's where they come from, hide. Everythings fair in love and war - right? They are crafty little bastards. The squirrel(s).
At any rate, the little fat bastard sees me, and starts up my tree. He has a big fat green pecan he's trying to eat. I get off my first shot nearly hitting him. This gets his attention, and he starts for the power lines trying to get across to the other side of the alley. He's not so freaked that he wants to lose his pecan though...so he's trying to take it with him. I reload and sight him as he's doing his high wire act. Another great shot that just misses his ass, and hits the wire causing it to move...which nearly knocks him off, but, being a squirrel, he catches himself easily, but not without losing his prized green pecan. Take that squirrel(s)!!!!!! This pisses him off. He stops, turns toward me. Staring me down in some sort of primal squirrel rage, flicks his tail around like his kind does, and starts barking at me. Probably "MAN!!!!!" in squirrel. I smile as I reload and take aim (missing of course) but he knows the war is back on - and hops across the border to fight another day. Squirrel(s). Bastards.
Until I BLOG again...SQUIRRELS!!!
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find, But it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind
Long time no BLOG from this here Boy named Stu. I do believe it is the longest span between posts since I started this here BLOG. No excuse other than the usual - work - home - squirrels (I'll BLOG about that later.) Not necessarily in that order either. Speaking of work, damn near a week ago, I was sitting in the Closet of Love (that's what I've named my Office) when my cell phone Boomer Sooner'd (I'm a nerd, I have Boomer Sooner as my ring tone on my phone.) It was my lovely Bride per the caller I.D. I answered with my customary, "What's up?" I should note that its not unusual for Cart to call me during the work-a-world day, but we don't make a big habit of it. Thus, when she calls its usually has a point.
"What's up?"
"Ethan has had a dental emergency."
"Excuse me?"
Sickness. Starting with a lump in my throat and ending up in the pit of my stomach, as she explained that Ethan had fallen in the Jungle Gym thingy at McDonald's and knocked out one of his teeth. She was taking him to a Dentist. My mind was so rattled by he news, I had to have her repeat the address x3.
"I'm on my way."
So, off I rushed out of the Closest of Love to a Dentist by our house where they were going to address my Elder Boys busted tooth/teeth.
Not knowing what to expect, little info really, my mind raced as I negotiated the beating that is Dallas traffic. My thoughts were all over the place. I imagined horrible scenarios, Ethan missing multiple teeth, black and blue, and then my mind swung round and I thought, Shit, my shirt is going to get ruined because he's probably bleeding like a stuck pig. That soon switched to what Wyatt was doing during all of this - I can only imagine the car ride to the dentist from McDonald's - Ethan crying/screaming. Carter upset, trying to keep it together. Little WT - who knew?
15 minutes later, mind still racing, I took a deep breath and prepared to walk into Dr. Train's office (funny that the Doc's name is Train - Ethan is crazy about trains - not as funny as the fact that back in the day when we couldn't procreate, I went to male fertility Doctor named...drum roll...Bush) wanting to be calm and collected for the Team. I was obviously nervous at what I was going to find - but - in one of those real life - not funny like it is on tv, or smart like it is in books moments, I slowed down, put on a happy face, and tried to exude a calm - things will be coolio - facade.
I walked into the big office finding my Team on the floor in front of one of those Leggo tables. Carter dressed in a white t-shirt looked like she worked in a slaughter house, Ethan had his back to me, sort of playing, and Wyatt was in his car seat, oblivious to the proceedings. Ethan (who wasn't crying when I walked into the office) immediately turned and saw me and started crying - hard. Funny, I can remember crying like that with my Parents. Seems like yestreday. I guess it was a month ago - kidding - something happened, and you see them and BAM, waterworks. I scooped up my Elder Boy, and held him, and started walking the floor. As he cried and I walked around the office with him (stopping to do the instant karma head shake thing to the Little Warrior in his car seat, who smiled, and did it back), I remembered all the times I'd walked the floor with Ethan when he was little, infant/baby little. He's not necessarily big yet, not 3 until January 17th - but he seems like such a big kid to me, and his Mom, and well, all this raced through my head as we walked the floor.
The sickness in my stomach was gone. I started talking about the balloon posters on the wall, and the train poster, etc. He started asking "What that train doing Daddy?" type questions. I knew he'd be ok, that's we'd all by ok. His tooth wasn't gone gone. It was loose, but should tighten up in a week or so. No root damage. The plug (read: infernal pacifier) had actually had a point, all the sucking had made his teeth point in a way that they weren't knocked into each other, requiring dental work. He had a pretty good bruise, some swelling, and pain. Lot of blood (all of which was on his Mom's shirt.) But, all in all he's no worse for the wear. Breathe out.
We made it through our first mad dash to the Doctor event. In hindsight I think we handled it pretty well - again, its one of those surreal life moments you find yourself - and it seems to be going on to someone else. You just try to keep your shit together and do right by your Team. Most of what I know about such things, to be honest, I learned from my Dad, who was nearly always calm, reassuring, and strong. Not, don't cry you pussy strong. Strong enough to make you feel that everything is going to be, cool. But soft enough to feel ok about crying, or being upset, scared, etc. That's how I hoped I was - and will continue to be for my Boy(s).
Until I BLOG Again...F (BOMB) Ronald McDonald!
"What's up?"
"Ethan has had a dental emergency."
"Excuse me?"
Sickness. Starting with a lump in my throat and ending up in the pit of my stomach, as she explained that Ethan had fallen in the Jungle Gym thingy at McDonald's and knocked out one of his teeth. She was taking him to a Dentist. My mind was so rattled by he news, I had to have her repeat the address x3.
"I'm on my way."
So, off I rushed out of the Closest of Love to a Dentist by our house where they were going to address my Elder Boys busted tooth/teeth.
Not knowing what to expect, little info really, my mind raced as I negotiated the beating that is Dallas traffic. My thoughts were all over the place. I imagined horrible scenarios, Ethan missing multiple teeth, black and blue, and then my mind swung round and I thought, Shit, my shirt is going to get ruined because he's probably bleeding like a stuck pig. That soon switched to what Wyatt was doing during all of this - I can only imagine the car ride to the dentist from McDonald's - Ethan crying/screaming. Carter upset, trying to keep it together. Little WT - who knew?
15 minutes later, mind still racing, I took a deep breath and prepared to walk into Dr. Train's office (funny that the Doc's name is Train - Ethan is crazy about trains - not as funny as the fact that back in the day when we couldn't procreate, I went to male fertility Doctor named...drum roll...Bush) wanting to be calm and collected for the Team. I was obviously nervous at what I was going to find - but - in one of those real life - not funny like it is on tv, or smart like it is in books moments, I slowed down, put on a happy face, and tried to exude a calm - things will be coolio - facade.
I walked into the big office finding my Team on the floor in front of one of those Leggo tables. Carter dressed in a white t-shirt looked like she worked in a slaughter house, Ethan had his back to me, sort of playing, and Wyatt was in his car seat, oblivious to the proceedings. Ethan (who wasn't crying when I walked into the office) immediately turned and saw me and started crying - hard. Funny, I can remember crying like that with my Parents. Seems like yestreday. I guess it was a month ago - kidding - something happened, and you see them and BAM, waterworks. I scooped up my Elder Boy, and held him, and started walking the floor. As he cried and I walked around the office with him (stopping to do the instant karma head shake thing to the Little Warrior in his car seat, who smiled, and did it back), I remembered all the times I'd walked the floor with Ethan when he was little, infant/baby little. He's not necessarily big yet, not 3 until January 17th - but he seems like such a big kid to me, and his Mom, and well, all this raced through my head as we walked the floor.
The sickness in my stomach was gone. I started talking about the balloon posters on the wall, and the train poster, etc. He started asking "What that train doing Daddy?" type questions. I knew he'd be ok, that's we'd all by ok. His tooth wasn't gone gone. It was loose, but should tighten up in a week or so. No root damage. The plug (read: infernal pacifier) had actually had a point, all the sucking had made his teeth point in a way that they weren't knocked into each other, requiring dental work. He had a pretty good bruise, some swelling, and pain. Lot of blood (all of which was on his Mom's shirt.) But, all in all he's no worse for the wear. Breathe out.
We made it through our first mad dash to the Doctor event. In hindsight I think we handled it pretty well - again, its one of those surreal life moments you find yourself - and it seems to be going on to someone else. You just try to keep your shit together and do right by your Team. Most of what I know about such things, to be honest, I learned from my Dad, who was nearly always calm, reassuring, and strong. Not, don't cry you pussy strong. Strong enough to make you feel that everything is going to be, cool. But soft enough to feel ok about crying, or being upset, scared, etc. That's how I hoped I was - and will continue to be for my Boy(s).
Until I BLOG Again...F (BOMB) Ronald McDonald!
Friday, September 03, 2004
with a rebel yell...
The Little Warrior hit the 8 month mark this past Saturday. He took his first tentative crawl yesterday. I'm sure before long he'll be scurrying across the floor like a true Rug Rat, chasing after his Big Brother, Suki, and whatever else catches his fancy.
Help us...
Seriously, it will be a new stage for all of us, and I'm sure things around Casa de Tinsley will move up a few notches on the crazy meter.
So, with that WT update, and look forward, let's stop and look back. I've often wrote about Wyatt's war cry. He has been doing it for months, and still does it actually. I finally got off my lazy ass and captured some video of it.
Fingers crossed, this will work, and everyone who has never had the pleasure of seeing the Little Warrior's war cry can see it now. If it don't work (I'm a MacDaddy in a PC world) someone give me a shout out in the comments, or something something and I'll try another file type posting. Hopefully it will work, it being a QuickTime file and all.
Until I BLOG again...RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Help us...
Seriously, it will be a new stage for all of us, and I'm sure things around Casa de Tinsley will move up a few notches on the crazy meter.
So, with that WT update, and look forward, let's stop and look back. I've often wrote about Wyatt's war cry. He has been doing it for months, and still does it actually. I finally got off my lazy ass and captured some video of it.
Fingers crossed, this will work, and everyone who has never had the pleasure of seeing the Little Warrior's war cry can see it now. If it don't work (I'm a MacDaddy in a PC world) someone give me a shout out in the comments, or something something and I'll try another file type posting. Hopefully it will work, it being a QuickTime file and all.
Until I BLOG again...RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
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