To say my taste in music is eclectic, would be an understatement. Schizophrenic is more like it. iTunes has a nifty feature called party shuffle that will randomly shuffle through a designated playlists or your total library. I usually let it work through my library (currently at 2,541 songs) which often sounds like a Vinita party mix (For you non-Okies: Vinita is/was home of Oklahoma's main nervous hospital (PC version: Mental Institution.))
Don't believe me. Dig this: I'm currently listening to Crash on the Barrelhead by the Old 97's. On deck is Fallen Angel by Poison, followed by I Got A Feeling by Ricky Neslon, followed by Wheel in the Sky by Journey, followed by Foggy Mountain Breakdown by Scruggs and Flatts.
I listen to this mad mix each and everyday at work. Crazy. Yes. Interesting. Always. But, the big benefit of listening this way is getting turned onto songs that have never been on my radar.
Take Charley Pride. I got his greatest hits cd, for the bigger hits (Kiss An Angel Good Morning, Is Anyone Goin' to San Antone.) But still, I burned the entire album, some of which I'd never even heard. Then one fine day, listening to my maniacal mix, Charley Pride's I'm Just Me was playing, and the lyrics caught my fancy, got me a listening to it, and well, it quickly became one of my (if not my) favorite Charley Pride song(s).
Right about now (funk show brother), you're thinking, Charley Pride? Stu listens to, and likes Charley Pride?
That would be an affimative. I'm a closet C&W (old school) fan. I also had the pleasure of playing golf with Mr. Pride. Not once, twice, but three times. Cantoni (where I work) did a donation thing to a tournament that used to be in his name, and well, I got put on his team. Nice guy. Doesn't drink, I think because he has a brother who is an alcoholic. He didn't say that, but sort of did a charade thingy, where he put his thumb up to his mouth and held his hand in the air (like he's drinking from his thumb) and made a glug - glug - glug sound effect. No shit. Charley Pride on a golf cart with a Boy Named Stu, eating a hot dog with mayo doing that. He called me Red. Talked about being in the Army and Minor League baseball more than about being a Country Music legend.
Now, you're probably thinking, OK, cool Stu, but why are you telling us this? What does it have to do with the Boy(s) and/or Team Tinsley. Read on, dear Reader. Read on.
Sitting on the floor of my bedroom a few weeks in the rearview, windows open to a beautiful day, watching the final holes of the 2005 Masters. Tiger Woods and Chris DiMarco battling for a green jacket. It was glorious. So much so, that I was getting swept up in the drama. So much so that my ruckus drew the Boy(s) back to the bedroom. Normally, the Boy(s) would promptly commandeer the TV, wanting to watch some kiddie fare. Ethan would do a loop tape of: "Watch something else please" while the Little Warrior would grab a DVD or VHS case, hold it up and grunt at me, then at the tv, then me, then the tv, and keep repeating until I caved and put it on something they dig, like Hi-5 (which deserves it very own BLOG entry at some point.)
Not this Sunday. For some reason (probably my excitement) the Boy(s) decided to watch golf with me in the bedroom. By the time Tiger chipped it into the hole on 16 we were each, in our way, sucked into the action. The Elder Boy was jumping on the bed hooping and hollering, I was up off the floor yelling at the TV, as the Little Warrior did laps aroud my feet doing his one and only war cry. I'm suprised the neighbors didn't report us (remember the windows were wide open.)
Right in the middle of all of this, I paused, and had the realization that this was a great moment. The kind you always remember. It was strange. I won't be so goofy as to say that time stood still. Still, in my stillness, the moment was pure. Anyone who knows me or has read this here BLOG know I'm all about trying to be in the now. I try hard. I also try like heck not to chase the wrong things on the safari of life. I often fail, but every once in awhile I succeed, like this time. I get my monkey brain to slow down enough to pay attention and to truly appreciate the moment.
Now, remember this all started with my Music/Charley Pride/I'm Just Me riff. That very song sums up how I felt that Sunday, as well as most days I'm thankful to say: Some are wantin' more and more's gettin' less I just want what I've got.
Amen Brother Pride. AMEN.
Until I BLOG again...Glug - Glug - Glug
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Take A Picture(s)
Recent Team Tinsley Shutterfly Action if you care to take a look see...and for those that aren't on my Shutterfly email list.
Until I BLOG again...say cheese.
Until I BLOG again...say cheese.
Friday, April 15, 2005
A day in the life
On Tuesday at dinner my Lovely Bride mentioned that the girls wanted to get together for Stitch & Bitch (note: their name, not mine) - to knit - Thursday. My Lovely Bride clearly wanted to go, but felt bad since the previous night (Monday) she had went to a Richardson Heights Neighborhood Association book club. With my own Mr. Mom tour of duty not that far in the rearview, I was empathetic to her need to get out of the house, and said, no sweat. Mr. Mom. That's me. Plus, Monday night had gone extremely smooth, thus I assumed that Thursday would go well too. Ass/u/me.
You didn't have to be Nostradamus to see that the night was heading toward hell in a handbasket territory as soon as my Lovely Bride annouced that she was ready to leave. Boy #1 started whining, which quickly turned to fake crying. Boy #2 not sure what is going on, only that something is amiss, since his brother is crying, starts crying himself. A cacophony of cries if ever there was. I'll be the first to admit that my work isn't that hard, but by 7pm after a long day at the office, I'm tired, and don't enjoy their wailing. Not because I take it as a personal insult, that they want Mom vs. Dad - but because it is annoying. Plus, I know that five minutes after Carter is out the door, it will be quiet. Still, the crying had the intended effect on Mom, who feelt guilty about leaving me with two crying kids, and bad for leaving said kids. Not bad enough to stay at home, thus, off she goes to Stitch & Bitch. Ethan promptly stops crying and goes back to playing with Legos. Wyatt, a true Mommy's Boy, gets torqued up hard after his Mom leaves, standing at the door, little hands in fists of fury, he rages. I've learned that the best course of action is to hold out my arms for him, which indicates that I'm there for some comfort if he wants it. Typical, he rejects me the first, second, and third time. My act pissing him off more than helping - he rages all the harder which makes him look like a mini-Jerr (my Dad, their Pops.) After a few minutes, Ethan totally oblivious to it all, which is annoying considering he was the catalyst, I walk into the kitchen to retrieve The Little Warrior's plug. Spent, he stubles after me. By this time, he's ready for Dad, I insert the Plug and we go sit down together. Smooth sailing ahead (right into a reef!)
Boy #1 who was wearing a t-shirt and a diaper, decides to drop the diaper, literally, in front of the TV. That's cool - no poop, and we're trying to do the Potty Training thing so I let it slide, just warning him to not urinate on the floor, or sofa, etc. For some reason, he takes my warning as an invitation to come and sit with me and Wyatt. Three on the chair, sort of a tight fit, but doable. We had been watching Star Wars on DVD, but Boy #1 wanted to watch something else. One of the reasons we're watching Star Wars is because I was recording Survivor on DVR. Ethan starts wriggling around in the seat (remember, he's nude from the waist down) and his ass somehow starts changing channels on the cable box. Being a hopelessly addicted Survivor fan, I'm afraid that he's changed the channel on cable (which we can't see because Star Wars is playing), which would cancel my recording of Survivor. I quickly jerk my arm back to try and get the remote (which Ethan is sitting on) and squarely and quite hard catch him in the teeth with my elbow.
I couldn't have tried to hit him in a worst place as readers of this here BLOG are well aware (backstory: go here & here.) To add insult to injry just the day before Ethan had his first ever Dental check-up. Fortuna can be a bitch.
Ethan lost it. Shocked by the unexpectant elbow in the teeth, which hurt, coupled with the previous teeth incidents, he lost it hard. If you ever wonder if I'm truthful in this here BLOG...read this sad admssion - Even though I felt terrible and apolgize profusely, with one arm hug for comfort, I'm still worried about that damn heroin of a tv show, Survivor and check to make sure that it is in fact, still taping (which is was.) Not good enough comfort, Boy #1 needs some full on TLC - as in holding him and telling him that it is ok, I'm sorry. To do this requires that I have to jettison the Little Warrior from the chair. You can well imagine how well that went. Not pleased with being bumped, Boy #2 starts screaming at my feet, while a half naked Boy #1 is my Lap wailing. Boy #2 is crying so hard, that he stumbles on my feet and falls down hard, which makes him cry even harder. As if a challenge, Boy #1, increases his wailing output.
At this point Dear Reader, I'm ashamed to say, I lose my shit, which as you probably guessed wasn't the most helpful thing to do in this situation. I quickly recovered though - trying to practice all that Eastern boogie shit that I preach, I did the deep breathe thing trying to collect myself to get a grip so to speak. In doing that, I looked up and happened to see the clock which much to my chagrin showed it to be only 7:20pm. Remember, my Lovely Bride left at 7pm. Father of the Year - That's me.
Until I BLOG again...How did it go?
You didn't have to be Nostradamus to see that the night was heading toward hell in a handbasket territory as soon as my Lovely Bride annouced that she was ready to leave. Boy #1 started whining, which quickly turned to fake crying. Boy #2 not sure what is going on, only that something is amiss, since his brother is crying, starts crying himself. A cacophony of cries if ever there was. I'll be the first to admit that my work isn't that hard, but by 7pm after a long day at the office, I'm tired, and don't enjoy their wailing. Not because I take it as a personal insult, that they want Mom vs. Dad - but because it is annoying. Plus, I know that five minutes after Carter is out the door, it will be quiet. Still, the crying had the intended effect on Mom, who feelt guilty about leaving me with two crying kids, and bad for leaving said kids. Not bad enough to stay at home, thus, off she goes to Stitch & Bitch. Ethan promptly stops crying and goes back to playing with Legos. Wyatt, a true Mommy's Boy, gets torqued up hard after his Mom leaves, standing at the door, little hands in fists of fury, he rages. I've learned that the best course of action is to hold out my arms for him, which indicates that I'm there for some comfort if he wants it. Typical, he rejects me the first, second, and third time. My act pissing him off more than helping - he rages all the harder which makes him look like a mini-Jerr (my Dad, their Pops.) After a few minutes, Ethan totally oblivious to it all, which is annoying considering he was the catalyst, I walk into the kitchen to retrieve The Little Warrior's plug. Spent, he stubles after me. By this time, he's ready for Dad, I insert the Plug and we go sit down together. Smooth sailing ahead (right into a reef!)
Boy #1 who was wearing a t-shirt and a diaper, decides to drop the diaper, literally, in front of the TV. That's cool - no poop, and we're trying to do the Potty Training thing so I let it slide, just warning him to not urinate on the floor, or sofa, etc. For some reason, he takes my warning as an invitation to come and sit with me and Wyatt. Three on the chair, sort of a tight fit, but doable. We had been watching Star Wars on DVD, but Boy #1 wanted to watch something else. One of the reasons we're watching Star Wars is because I was recording Survivor on DVR. Ethan starts wriggling around in the seat (remember, he's nude from the waist down) and his ass somehow starts changing channels on the cable box. Being a hopelessly addicted Survivor fan, I'm afraid that he's changed the channel on cable (which we can't see because Star Wars is playing), which would cancel my recording of Survivor. I quickly jerk my arm back to try and get the remote (which Ethan is sitting on) and squarely and quite hard catch him in the teeth with my elbow.
I couldn't have tried to hit him in a worst place as readers of this here BLOG are well aware (backstory: go here & here.) To add insult to injry just the day before Ethan had his first ever Dental check-up. Fortuna can be a bitch.
Ethan lost it. Shocked by the unexpectant elbow in the teeth, which hurt, coupled with the previous teeth incidents, he lost it hard. If you ever wonder if I'm truthful in this here BLOG...read this sad admssion - Even though I felt terrible and apolgize profusely, with one arm hug for comfort, I'm still worried about that damn heroin of a tv show, Survivor and check to make sure that it is in fact, still taping (which is was.) Not good enough comfort, Boy #1 needs some full on TLC - as in holding him and telling him that it is ok, I'm sorry. To do this requires that I have to jettison the Little Warrior from the chair. You can well imagine how well that went. Not pleased with being bumped, Boy #2 starts screaming at my feet, while a half naked Boy #1 is my Lap wailing. Boy #2 is crying so hard, that he stumbles on my feet and falls down hard, which makes him cry even harder. As if a challenge, Boy #1, increases his wailing output.
At this point Dear Reader, I'm ashamed to say, I lose my shit, which as you probably guessed wasn't the most helpful thing to do in this situation. I quickly recovered though - trying to practice all that Eastern boogie shit that I preach, I did the deep breathe thing trying to collect myself to get a grip so to speak. In doing that, I looked up and happened to see the clock which much to my chagrin showed it to be only 7:20pm. Remember, my Lovely Bride left at 7pm. Father of the Year - That's me.
Until I BLOG again...How did it go?
Friday, April 08, 2005
220... 221, whatever it takes.
Due to a series of unfortunate events I found myself at McDonald's in Huntsville, Texas this past Monday at lunch. Not for me. I won't eat that crap. I've always been wary of McDonald's - even before that cat made the documentary. I've always felt that Ronald McDonald was akin to a crack dealer. Low price, high sugary food. Evil. If you're on the fence about it, no worries, how about a free toy in that Happy Meal. Still not convinced...we have a playground! But, it doesn't really matter what I think, in the end, the Boy(s) are hooked - hopeless addicts, and they both screamed for it as we rolled up 45 on our way back to the Messoplex.
That is why I found myself sandwiched between two prison guards with Boy #2 who is 1 in my arms, and Boy #1 who is 3 between my legs on that fine Monday Monday. Trying to place an order to feed my hungry progeny all by my lonesome. Mr.Mom. That was me. You see, Carter was East (as in Richmond, VA for a funeral) and I was in the West with the Boy(s), by myself. Did I mention that I had to pee. Bad. So, in line, waiting to order, holding one Boy, another holding onto my leg, and jerking around, bladder full of urine, uncomfortably close to two large prison guards in a McDonald's in Huntsville Texas.
Sweet Mother of goodness, I think I'll stick to my day job, because I don't think I'm cut out for full time Mr. Mom duty. What would you do. You have to urinate (bad.) You have two Boy(s) who take after their Mom in regard to food (if they go without food for to long they lose their shit.) The restaurant is BUSY. The Boy in your arms wants down to roam, the one between your legs (who keeps bumping into your nether region, and remember you need to pee) wants to be held. You are being bumped into by two large, burly prison guards, who don't find your kids all that cuddly and cute...they just want their McFat Sandwich so they can get back to guarding Texas' Most Wanted.
That crazy enough. Ok. Fast forward past ordering and the next 10 minutes of waiting for your food and trying to keep Boy #2 from getting out of your arms, and Boy #1 out of the play area while you wait for your food all the while doing a looped tape explanation to him on why he can't go to the play area without you.
Ding ding ding ding...food is ready. Now the fun part. Doing all the above while you navigate the BUSY self service station for soft drinks and ketchup. Finally, you make it through that endurance test, and by the grace of all that is pure, you don't spill anything. Now it is time to settle into a table in the play area while a few other actual "moms" eye you warily thinking you might be some sort of sicko pervert trolling for kids. You still have to pee too...and at this point, you're considering wetting yourself vs. trying to figure out how to get to the other side of the restaurant to use the facilities. No time for that anyway...you need to get the food out of the bag, find a high chair for Boy #2 that has to be cleaned from the previous user, and all you can think about is this: Did I leave the wet wipes in the car?!?!?! You don't have time to worry for long, because both Boy(s) are screaming...at first you think it is for their food...but soon realize they could give a give a shit about the shit (read: food) - all they want is their Happy Meal Toy. As you try to open them up and distribute in an equitable manner, another Boy in the play area approaches you to see what sort of toy you got. Snotty nose, dirty, you don't see cute kid, all you see is a Carrier monkey, and wonder if you have any Purell.
Never again, will I wonder what my Lovely Bride did all day when I come home to find the house in complete chaos, looking as if a twister has struck the inside of our casa. Never again will I think twice when she tells me she didn't have a chance to shower that day, or find time to run by the grocery store to pick up some little something. Never again will I question if it takes her a few days to find the time to call a repair person.
Never again.
I played Mr. Mom for just a brief period of time, and, I decided something. My Lovely Bride (and all those like her) deserve danger pay...and a bonus, which based on my experience should be a box of Depend.
Until I BLOG again...
That is why I found myself sandwiched between two prison guards with Boy #2 who is 1 in my arms, and Boy #1 who is 3 between my legs on that fine Monday Monday. Trying to place an order to feed my hungry progeny all by my lonesome. Mr.Mom. That was me. You see, Carter was East (as in Richmond, VA for a funeral) and I was in the West with the Boy(s), by myself. Did I mention that I had to pee. Bad. So, in line, waiting to order, holding one Boy, another holding onto my leg, and jerking around, bladder full of urine, uncomfortably close to two large prison guards in a McDonald's in Huntsville Texas.
Sweet Mother of goodness, I think I'll stick to my day job, because I don't think I'm cut out for full time Mr. Mom duty. What would you do. You have to urinate (bad.) You have two Boy(s) who take after their Mom in regard to food (if they go without food for to long they lose their shit.) The restaurant is BUSY. The Boy in your arms wants down to roam, the one between your legs (who keeps bumping into your nether region, and remember you need to pee) wants to be held. You are being bumped into by two large, burly prison guards, who don't find your kids all that cuddly and cute...they just want their McFat Sandwich so they can get back to guarding Texas' Most Wanted.
That crazy enough. Ok. Fast forward past ordering and the next 10 minutes of waiting for your food and trying to keep Boy #2 from getting out of your arms, and Boy #1 out of the play area while you wait for your food all the while doing a looped tape explanation to him on why he can't go to the play area without you.
Ding ding ding ding...food is ready. Now the fun part. Doing all the above while you navigate the BUSY self service station for soft drinks and ketchup. Finally, you make it through that endurance test, and by the grace of all that is pure, you don't spill anything. Now it is time to settle into a table in the play area while a few other actual "moms" eye you warily thinking you might be some sort of sicko pervert trolling for kids. You still have to pee too...and at this point, you're considering wetting yourself vs. trying to figure out how to get to the other side of the restaurant to use the facilities. No time for that anyway...you need to get the food out of the bag, find a high chair for Boy #2 that has to be cleaned from the previous user, and all you can think about is this: Did I leave the wet wipes in the car?!?!?! You don't have time to worry for long, because both Boy(s) are screaming...at first you think it is for their food...but soon realize they could give a give a shit about the shit (read: food) - all they want is their Happy Meal Toy. As you try to open them up and distribute in an equitable manner, another Boy in the play area approaches you to see what sort of toy you got. Snotty nose, dirty, you don't see cute kid, all you see is a Carrier monkey, and wonder if you have any Purell.
Never again, will I wonder what my Lovely Bride did all day when I come home to find the house in complete chaos, looking as if a twister has struck the inside of our casa. Never again will I think twice when she tells me she didn't have a chance to shower that day, or find time to run by the grocery store to pick up some little something. Never again will I question if it takes her a few days to find the time to call a repair person.
Never again.
I played Mr. Mom for just a brief period of time, and, I decided something. My Lovely Bride (and all those like her) deserve danger pay...and a bonus, which based on my experience should be a box of Depend.
Until I BLOG again...
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