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?
Friday, April 15, 2005
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...
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
But, I'm funny how?
The Elder Boy fashions himself a comedian. I've BLOGGED before on his sense of comedy, which never ceases to amaze me. It is fun to watch him be funny. Case in point.
Casa Tinsley, the dinner table. The Team sans Dad (that's me) had made a trip to the creek to see the turtles. We hadn't had rain in the Messoplex for some time, thus the creek was stagnate. Gross. That Indian Chief cat was on the bridge with a tear in his eye kind of dirty. My Lovely Bride commented on how foul the water was, and that the poor turtles were so foul that their shells were dirty. As Carter is telling the story dinner is pretty quiet - Ethan is minding his business and messing with his food. The Little Warrior is devouring whatever is in front of him. At the shells being dirty part, Ethan pops up with a glint in his eye and starts singing a few lines from the, so good they made it into a movie song. The one and only Car Wash. The only time that I've been exposed to Ethan hearing that song was during the less than stellar Shark Tale. There is a bastardized version of that song in this movie. The main fish character (Wil Smith) works at a 'whale' wash.
There lies the impetus for E's joke, which along with his delivery (he did this little hand pump dance thing with an eye roll move as he sang) made me laugh. When he saw that I found it funny, he then repeated the little song with body language and cracked up at himself. Then, and this is my favorite part, he punctuated it all with his version of an amen: that's funny. He nearly always says that when something makes him laugh and or he trots out a joke.
Warning: Gratuitous Parent Praise - I know, every parent thinks their kid is a genius...yet here I go playing the part.
Ethan only saw Shark Tale (It sucked) once (maybe twice) before we sent it back to Netflix. It wasn't like the Pecan Movie, where we watched it over and over, and could act it out in a Team Tinsley production. Ethan hadn't seen it in weeks either, when he used it for the above joke. As Kenny told Seinfeld, on Seinfeld: Genius!
Until I BLOG again...Sing it with feelin', ya'all
Casa Tinsley, the dinner table. The Team sans Dad (that's me) had made a trip to the creek to see the turtles. We hadn't had rain in the Messoplex for some time, thus the creek was stagnate. Gross. That Indian Chief cat was on the bridge with a tear in his eye kind of dirty. My Lovely Bride commented on how foul the water was, and that the poor turtles were so foul that their shells were dirty. As Carter is telling the story dinner is pretty quiet - Ethan is minding his business and messing with his food. The Little Warrior is devouring whatever is in front of him. At the shells being dirty part, Ethan pops up with a glint in his eye and starts singing a few lines from the, so good they made it into a movie song. The one and only Car Wash. The only time that I've been exposed to Ethan hearing that song was during the less than stellar Shark Tale. There is a bastardized version of that song in this movie. The main fish character (Wil Smith) works at a 'whale' wash.
There lies the impetus for E's joke, which along with his delivery (he did this little hand pump dance thing with an eye roll move as he sang) made me laugh. When he saw that I found it funny, he then repeated the little song with body language and cracked up at himself. Then, and this is my favorite part, he punctuated it all with his version of an amen: that's funny. He nearly always says that when something makes him laugh and or he trots out a joke.
Warning: Gratuitous Parent Praise - I know, every parent thinks their kid is a genius...yet here I go playing the part.
Ethan only saw Shark Tale (It sucked) once (maybe twice) before we sent it back to Netflix. It wasn't like the Pecan Movie, where we watched it over and over, and could act it out in a Team Tinsley production. Ethan hadn't seen it in weeks either, when he used it for the above joke. As Kenny told Seinfeld, on Seinfeld: Genius!
Until I BLOG again...Sing it with feelin', ya'all
Thursday, March 10, 2005
How should I feel
After reading my last few schmaltzy BLOGS, I realized I might be painting an unrealistic portrait of myself. My goal for this here BLOG, aside from your amusement Dear Reader, is a time warp portal for my Boy(s) in the Buck Rogers future (a lofty goal for one cat's (bad) writing.) Thinking of that goal the other day, I thought this: Would the future versions of Wyatt and/or Ethan read what I've wrote and think, Our Dad was a big wuss!
For the record, I don't think there is anything wrong with a man showing emotion. Hats off to those that are in touch with that side. This BLOG isn't about me trying to defend my reputation as a man. Hell, any illusion I might have had of being a manly man was shredded in my first encounter with Carter. For those that don't know or don't want to read the full version, I'll cut to the chase. Carter thought I was funny (and I don't mean the ha-ha variety.) But, even before then, I've known that I'm not what you would consider a macho sort of a guy.
I've also never been the sort of Boy who teared up while watching a Hallmark card commercial. I don't need a box of Kleenix handy while watching (bad) Lifetime movies. Maybe for Who's The Boss, but as that BLOG illustrates, nearly all my saccharine entries are about the Boy(s). They are the exceptions. The chink in my armor. They get me, every time. Elsewhere in my life, I'm not that sensitive. In fact, I love my Lovely Bride, with all my heart, but, even she'd be the first to admit that I'm not that mushy. So, for the record, I'm not a wuss, except when it comes to the Boy(s).
Having said all that, you might not believe this: I'm not overemotional about all things Boy(s). I don't romanticize everything. In fact, there are a few things that I despise. Things that I would love to jettison from my daily life. Those things? Diapers and bottles.
I've BLOGGED (more like a rant) on diapers in the past. A year later, and I still can't stomach those preposterous cartoons on diapers. Nothing has changed from my last BLOG, except the goofy art. They now have Disney characters vs. animals with musical instruments. I guess Huggies (our brand of choice, only because you can buy them by the oodles at Sam's) sold the space to Disney? They probably thought it was a glorious marketing move. Picture that meeting. Tons of suits around the conference table, and some eager beaver marketing minion ready for the big pitch with flow charts, pie graphs, etc. As they wheel Uncle Walt in from cryogenic storage our jr. executive starts his spiel about reaching parents of young children to increase attendance at Disney amusement parks as well as increasing sales on ancillary Disney products. What better way to reach them than having trademarked Disney characters on diapers! The suits nod their collective head in agreement as they view the graphs and charts that illustrate that the average parent changes x amount of diapers a day, which would equal x impressions for Disney per change x2 (taking off old diaper and replacing with new diaper,) which would all = some big ass x% profit increase. Probably didn't go down exactly like that, but, at some point, someone at Disney made a deal with someone at Huggies and now I have to look at Mickey or Minnie Mouse every time one of the Boy(s) takes a shit.
I despise diapers. The day the Boy(s) are done soiling themselves, and can use the toilet (or backyard like their Dear Old Dad - that's number 1, not 2) will be a joyous day for Team Tinsley. I realize it will also mean that the Boy(s) are older, not as cuddly, etc. But, hey, I can handle that. You won't fiind me doing any, oh, I miss diaper BLOGS. If you see such a entry, I'll need a diaper - because I'll be full of shit.
Bottles or the bottle is something that is very close to being in the rearview at Casa Tinsley. Wyatt is down to one a day (at night.) He's not pleased about it either. Poor kid, the second child thing. Ethan got to be on a bottle a lot longer. But, as parents you live and learn, and we decided with Wyatt, the bottle would start going bye-bye when he turned one. This is fine with me. I was never really enamored with the bottle. Perhaps it is because I've never lactated? Not sure, but the whole bottle thing was always a tedious proposition for me. It was made worse by our brand of bottle. Advent. Not sure how we ended up with this curious English (they are proud of that fact, it is inscribed on their bottles) brand. I've read that Advent is as close as you can get to the teat, without actually being on it. I've never breast fed (or if I did, I can't remember) so I wouldn't know about that. All I know is that our Advent bottles had the annoying habit of leaking from the neck at the most inopportune of moments. Picture me in the kitchen, a crying baby, hungry, wanting the bottle NOW. While the Boy wails, I add tap water to the proper level, and whack it in the microwave, walking that fine line between hot and warm. As the buzzer sounds I grab the formula and add the proper amount of scoops and then mix it. Then, time to add the nipple to the bottle, followed by the test. The test was holding the bottle upside down with a finger over the nipple hole to see if the bottle would leak. If it was going to leak, it would then start to leak at the neck, running down the sides of the bottle...as the baby cried louder and louder. You then had to take off the nipple and try again. Test. Etc. I've had times when there would be no leak. Good to go from the get go. Other times, one refit of the nipple and good to go. Then there have been times when I've had to do it multiple times. Times when I had to get a different nipple. I've even had to scrap a bottle and start a new one because I couldn't get the nipple and or bottle not to leak. I'm sad to say that once (maybe twice) I've gotten so frustrated that I did my version of the Incredible Hulk and spiked the offending bottle and nipple on our kitchen floor (which is tile.) Not pretty, or smart, since I had to then clean it up - after feeding the baby of course. Then there were the times before we learned that the things leaked, or just forgot, and started feeding the baby only to realize that the bottle was leaking. It is a very subtle leak, thus, by the time I'd usually discover it, the baby was drenched. Which meant that I had to change the baby, and at that age, it was almost always into a onesie. Those outfits, with their snappy snaps are number three on my shit list - right behind diapers, and bottles.
To this day, I don't know why the Advent bottle leaked at times, and not others. Weird. There was no rhyme or reason to it, as far as I could tell. Trust me, I experimented. The only consistant thing was that it would always leak at the worst possible time. It wasn't just me either, Carter had the same issues and frustration herself. In fact, I think we're on the same page re: the bottle, and will be doing a jig of joy when the bottle is finally bye-bye for good at our house. I won't be taking any long last look before I say good-bye to bottles or Advent. It will more likely be, Hello shitcan. Unless of course I can sell them on eBay.
Until I BLOG again...
For the record, I don't think there is anything wrong with a man showing emotion. Hats off to those that are in touch with that side. This BLOG isn't about me trying to defend my reputation as a man. Hell, any illusion I might have had of being a manly man was shredded in my first encounter with Carter. For those that don't know or don't want to read the full version, I'll cut to the chase. Carter thought I was funny (and I don't mean the ha-ha variety.) But, even before then, I've known that I'm not what you would consider a macho sort of a guy.
I've also never been the sort of Boy who teared up while watching a Hallmark card commercial. I don't need a box of Kleenix handy while watching (bad) Lifetime movies. Maybe for Who's The Boss, but as that BLOG illustrates, nearly all my saccharine entries are about the Boy(s). They are the exceptions. The chink in my armor. They get me, every time. Elsewhere in my life, I'm not that sensitive. In fact, I love my Lovely Bride, with all my heart, but, even she'd be the first to admit that I'm not that mushy. So, for the record, I'm not a wuss, except when it comes to the Boy(s).
Having said all that, you might not believe this: I'm not overemotional about all things Boy(s). I don't romanticize everything. In fact, there are a few things that I despise. Things that I would love to jettison from my daily life. Those things? Diapers and bottles.
I've BLOGGED (more like a rant) on diapers in the past. A year later, and I still can't stomach those preposterous cartoons on diapers. Nothing has changed from my last BLOG, except the goofy art. They now have Disney characters vs. animals with musical instruments. I guess Huggies (our brand of choice, only because you can buy them by the oodles at Sam's) sold the space to Disney? They probably thought it was a glorious marketing move. Picture that meeting. Tons of suits around the conference table, and some eager beaver marketing minion ready for the big pitch with flow charts, pie graphs, etc. As they wheel Uncle Walt in from cryogenic storage our jr. executive starts his spiel about reaching parents of young children to increase attendance at Disney amusement parks as well as increasing sales on ancillary Disney products. What better way to reach them than having trademarked Disney characters on diapers! The suits nod their collective head in agreement as they view the graphs and charts that illustrate that the average parent changes x amount of diapers a day, which would equal x impressions for Disney per change x2 (taking off old diaper and replacing with new diaper,) which would all = some big ass x% profit increase. Probably didn't go down exactly like that, but, at some point, someone at Disney made a deal with someone at Huggies and now I have to look at Mickey or Minnie Mouse every time one of the Boy(s) takes a shit.
I despise diapers. The day the Boy(s) are done soiling themselves, and can use the toilet (or backyard like their Dear Old Dad - that's number 1, not 2) will be a joyous day for Team Tinsley. I realize it will also mean that the Boy(s) are older, not as cuddly, etc. But, hey, I can handle that. You won't fiind me doing any, oh, I miss diaper BLOGS. If you see such a entry, I'll need a diaper - because I'll be full of shit.
Bottles or the bottle is something that is very close to being in the rearview at Casa Tinsley. Wyatt is down to one a day (at night.) He's not pleased about it either. Poor kid, the second child thing. Ethan got to be on a bottle a lot longer. But, as parents you live and learn, and we decided with Wyatt, the bottle would start going bye-bye when he turned one. This is fine with me. I was never really enamored with the bottle. Perhaps it is because I've never lactated? Not sure, but the whole bottle thing was always a tedious proposition for me. It was made worse by our brand of bottle. Advent. Not sure how we ended up with this curious English (they are proud of that fact, it is inscribed on their bottles) brand. I've read that Advent is as close as you can get to the teat, without actually being on it. I've never breast fed (or if I did, I can't remember) so I wouldn't know about that. All I know is that our Advent bottles had the annoying habit of leaking from the neck at the most inopportune of moments. Picture me in the kitchen, a crying baby, hungry, wanting the bottle NOW. While the Boy wails, I add tap water to the proper level, and whack it in the microwave, walking that fine line between hot and warm. As the buzzer sounds I grab the formula and add the proper amount of scoops and then mix it. Then, time to add the nipple to the bottle, followed by the test. The test was holding the bottle upside down with a finger over the nipple hole to see if the bottle would leak. If it was going to leak, it would then start to leak at the neck, running down the sides of the bottle...as the baby cried louder and louder. You then had to take off the nipple and try again. Test. Etc. I've had times when there would be no leak. Good to go from the get go. Other times, one refit of the nipple and good to go. Then there have been times when I've had to do it multiple times. Times when I had to get a different nipple. I've even had to scrap a bottle and start a new one because I couldn't get the nipple and or bottle not to leak. I'm sad to say that once (maybe twice) I've gotten so frustrated that I did my version of the Incredible Hulk and spiked the offending bottle and nipple on our kitchen floor (which is tile.) Not pretty, or smart, since I had to then clean it up - after feeding the baby of course. Then there were the times before we learned that the things leaked, or just forgot, and started feeding the baby only to realize that the bottle was leaking. It is a very subtle leak, thus, by the time I'd usually discover it, the baby was drenched. Which meant that I had to change the baby, and at that age, it was almost always into a onesie. Those outfits, with their snappy snaps are number three on my shit list - right behind diapers, and bottles.
To this day, I don't know why the Advent bottle leaked at times, and not others. Weird. There was no rhyme or reason to it, as far as I could tell. Trust me, I experimented. The only consistant thing was that it would always leak at the worst possible time. It wasn't just me either, Carter had the same issues and frustration herself. In fact, I think we're on the same page re: the bottle, and will be doing a jig of joy when the bottle is finally bye-bye for good at our house. I won't be taking any long last look before I say good-bye to bottles or Advent. It will more likely be, Hello shitcan. Unless of course I can sell them on eBay.
Until I BLOG again...
Friday, March 04, 2005
Let me take a long last look, before we say good-bye.
By now you should know three things about me.
1. I have issues with letting go.
2. I have a curious habit of trotting out what I call stock jokes.
3. I am sentimental when it comes to the Boy(s).
Guess what? I struck a psychic trifecta on Thursday, February 24, 2005, in of all places, the parking lot of the Richardson Public Library. Why? I had just finished my last Lapsit with Ethan.
Lapsit? Let me play the part of the clown and trot out my stock joke. I need a set up, so let us pretend you ask me to grab a coke after work on a Thursday night.
Me: I got to get home tonight - I've got Lapsit at seven.
You: Lapsit?
Me: Yes, Lapsit - and contrary to what you might think I'm not going to (insert the name of a gentleman's club - commonly known as a Titty Bar - say Million Dollar Saloon) to be entertained by some stripper named Porsche. I'm taking my Oldest Boy to the library to see Tula the turtle.
Just because I call them stock jokes doesn't necessarily make them funny (just ask Carter.) But, like you, I'm not really laughing at my (bad) joke either. Confession. It is nothing but a cover. Smokey sang it best - ...Although I might be laughing loud and hearty, Deep inside I'm blue. Why am I blue? I had to say good-bye to Tula, and Lapsit. Lapsit?
Lapsit is a wonderful reading program at our library. Lapsit fosters a love of books. But more important, for me at least, is the quality time it gives you with your child. The set-up is pretty simple. The program runs for six consecutive weeks (we went on Thursday nights at 7pm.) Each 30 minute session is presided over by Tula (who is a turtle puppet) and her Mom (the Children's program person at the Library.) They read a handful of children books (which usually follow a theme, like say, farm animals), and there are a few parts where the audience gets to do some participation, but for the most part, they read and your child sits on your lap. Literally. Lapsit. Quick, reread my stock joke. Is it funnier now?
Last Fall, Ethan and I did our first Lapsit tour. We loved it. So much so that we were eager for Winter Lapsit. Only problem, Ethan turned 3 on January 17, a few days before the Winter Lapsit started. 3 is the age cut-off for Lapsit. Since Ethan was on the cusp, we (me and my Bride) felt he wasn't quite ready to graduate to Storytime (more on that in a minute.) Carter spoke to Tula's Mom about Ethan (and me) doing another tour of Lapsit, and she said Coolio (she didn't actually say coolio, that's my jive ass lingo - but we got the OK.)
This tour ended February 24. When the reading program starts again this Summer, Ethan will move on to Storytime. Storytime is another children reading program at our library. It is for older kids, age range is 3 to 7. Lasts longer. To be honest, I'm not sure if Tula is a part of Storytime, the only thing I'm certain is that I'm not. Parents aren't allowed. Alas, Ethan will continue his reading journey without me, or my lap.
This was stewing in my head as Ethan and I left the library, walking hand in hand through the parking lot to our car. As silly as it may seem (trust me, If I was reading this here BLOG, I'd probably call me, a wuss or something far worse) I had a mental flash of all the times I'm going to have to go through this with Ethan and Wyatt - God willing - because that is the way it is supposed to be. The Boy(s) will grow, move on, graduate, and live their lives, and probably more than I will want or like, this process will include leaving me (and their Mom) behind as they move forward. I know that is the way life works, I just never realized it would be so hard - that is - until I had to say good-bye to a damn turtle named Tula.
The funny thing about Lapsit, in light of how hard of a time I'm having letting it go, I would have never gone, if not for My Lovely Bride. Carter is a big believer in education, books, reading, etc. She mentioned the program to me, and sold is as such: that it would be a good thing to do with Ethan. At the time of our first tour, Ethan was still struggling with his Big Brother status, at no longer being the one and only at Casa Tinsley. The Little Warrior had made a big impression at our house and things were different. I was still adjusting to married with children status myself. At first I thought Carter might want Ethan and I out of the house on Thursday nights for personal reasons. As in quiet time for her. But, having been married long enough, I knew to keep my mouth shut, and instead wasted my mental energy on obsessing about the logistics of Lapsit. How would I get home, eat dinner, change my clothes and get both of us to the library by 7pm. Not to mention that it was Must See Thursday. Hell, I had to TIVO Survivor!
Typical, I couldn't see the forest for the trees. To my credit, I did enjoy Lapsit from the get-go and never looked at it as a chore, something I had to do. We never skipped, or missed a session. But still, until I made that final walk, I never realized what a great gift Carter had given me (and Ethan.) It wasn't about quiet time for her on Thursday nights. She wanted us to do it because she knew we needed it. That E needed some extra special time with his Dad, and that I might need some time too, and a simple little thing like Lapsit could be the remedy to slow me down and get me in the now.
I know that Ethan and I will have other special Dad and Lad things in the future. That he's only "3" - still I'm sad that Lapsit is over. For me and E at least. I'm pleased to say, since Letting Go is so hard for me, that I don't have to go cold turkey. I plan to take Wyattt to Lapsit after he turns 18 months.
Until I BLOG again...Good-Bye (for now) Tula.
1. I have issues with letting go.
2. I have a curious habit of trotting out what I call stock jokes.
3. I am sentimental when it comes to the Boy(s).
Guess what? I struck a psychic trifecta on Thursday, February 24, 2005, in of all places, the parking lot of the Richardson Public Library. Why? I had just finished my last Lapsit with Ethan.
Lapsit? Let me play the part of the clown and trot out my stock joke. I need a set up, so let us pretend you ask me to grab a coke after work on a Thursday night.
Me: I got to get home tonight - I've got Lapsit at seven.
You: Lapsit?
Me: Yes, Lapsit - and contrary to what you might think I'm not going to (insert the name of a gentleman's club - commonly known as a Titty Bar - say Million Dollar Saloon) to be entertained by some stripper named Porsche. I'm taking my Oldest Boy to the library to see Tula the turtle.
Just because I call them stock jokes doesn't necessarily make them funny (just ask Carter.) But, like you, I'm not really laughing at my (bad) joke either. Confession. It is nothing but a cover. Smokey sang it best - ...Although I might be laughing loud and hearty, Deep inside I'm blue. Why am I blue? I had to say good-bye to Tula, and Lapsit. Lapsit?
Lapsit is a wonderful reading program at our library. Lapsit fosters a love of books. But more important, for me at least, is the quality time it gives you with your child. The set-up is pretty simple. The program runs for six consecutive weeks (we went on Thursday nights at 7pm.) Each 30 minute session is presided over by Tula (who is a turtle puppet) and her Mom (the Children's program person at the Library.) They read a handful of children books (which usually follow a theme, like say, farm animals), and there are a few parts where the audience gets to do some participation, but for the most part, they read and your child sits on your lap. Literally. Lapsit. Quick, reread my stock joke. Is it funnier now?
Last Fall, Ethan and I did our first Lapsit tour. We loved it. So much so that we were eager for Winter Lapsit. Only problem, Ethan turned 3 on January 17, a few days before the Winter Lapsit started. 3 is the age cut-off for Lapsit. Since Ethan was on the cusp, we (me and my Bride) felt he wasn't quite ready to graduate to Storytime (more on that in a minute.) Carter spoke to Tula's Mom about Ethan (and me) doing another tour of Lapsit, and she said Coolio (she didn't actually say coolio, that's my jive ass lingo - but we got the OK.)
This tour ended February 24. When the reading program starts again this Summer, Ethan will move on to Storytime. Storytime is another children reading program at our library. It is for older kids, age range is 3 to 7. Lasts longer. To be honest, I'm not sure if Tula is a part of Storytime, the only thing I'm certain is that I'm not. Parents aren't allowed. Alas, Ethan will continue his reading journey without me, or my lap.
This was stewing in my head as Ethan and I left the library, walking hand in hand through the parking lot to our car. As silly as it may seem (trust me, If I was reading this here BLOG, I'd probably call me, a wuss or something far worse) I had a mental flash of all the times I'm going to have to go through this with Ethan and Wyatt - God willing - because that is the way it is supposed to be. The Boy(s) will grow, move on, graduate, and live their lives, and probably more than I will want or like, this process will include leaving me (and their Mom) behind as they move forward. I know that is the way life works, I just never realized it would be so hard - that is - until I had to say good-bye to a damn turtle named Tula.
The funny thing about Lapsit, in light of how hard of a time I'm having letting it go, I would have never gone, if not for My Lovely Bride. Carter is a big believer in education, books, reading, etc. She mentioned the program to me, and sold is as such: that it would be a good thing to do with Ethan. At the time of our first tour, Ethan was still struggling with his Big Brother status, at no longer being the one and only at Casa Tinsley. The Little Warrior had made a big impression at our house and things were different. I was still adjusting to married with children status myself. At first I thought Carter might want Ethan and I out of the house on Thursday nights for personal reasons. As in quiet time for her. But, having been married long enough, I knew to keep my mouth shut, and instead wasted my mental energy on obsessing about the logistics of Lapsit. How would I get home, eat dinner, change my clothes and get both of us to the library by 7pm. Not to mention that it was Must See Thursday. Hell, I had to TIVO Survivor!
Typical, I couldn't see the forest for the trees. To my credit, I did enjoy Lapsit from the get-go and never looked at it as a chore, something I had to do. We never skipped, or missed a session. But still, until I made that final walk, I never realized what a great gift Carter had given me (and Ethan.) It wasn't about quiet time for her on Thursday nights. She wanted us to do it because she knew we needed it. That E needed some extra special time with his Dad, and that I might need some time too, and a simple little thing like Lapsit could be the remedy to slow me down and get me in the now.
I know that Ethan and I will have other special Dad and Lad things in the future. That he's only "3" - still I'm sad that Lapsit is over. For me and E at least. I'm pleased to say, since Letting Go is so hard for me, that I don't have to go cold turkey. I plan to take Wyattt to Lapsit after he turns 18 months.
Until I BLOG again...Good-Bye (for now) Tula.
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