Ego tripping at the gates of hell.

On Sunday, I was in my office. Office in the Fonzie sense. The bathroom. My Lovely Bride was long gone for morning services at church. Ethan was presiding over his own version of the land before time in the den. Wy, well he was looking for me.

Wy: "Dad-E. R-U?"
Please pardon my hooked on phonics transcription of Wy, as regular readers know, this here BLOG is a chronicle for The Team in the Buck Rogers Future. A remember when then. I type it that way because I want to play Jim Croce and save time in the bottle.

Me: "I'm in here Wy Wy, in the bathroom."

At which point, Wy fiddles around with the knob a few moments before he gets the door open. It is not locked. I gave up on locking the door a long time ago, because there are few things worse than a small child on the other side of a locked bathroom door when you are on the other side trying to take a shit. First, it is annoying. Second, it is hard to get up and unlock the door to get them to stop banging and crying when you are in the middle of said shit. With the door opened, Wy comes strutting into my office. Strutting is the only way to describe this curious happy walk he likes to do when he's in a good mood or excited.

Wy: "What U doin' Daaaaa!"

Mind you I'm sitting on the stool, taking a shit. It is pretty obvious what I'm doing, but the Boy is only 2 1/2 and still poops in his diaper so I state the obvious.

Me: "I'm using the bathroom."

Wy: "U poo poo?"

Me: "Yes. Daddy is pooping."

Wy: "Poo POO YUK-EE!!!!"

I didn't really have a come back for that one, so, I let it pass. Pooping is kind of 'yuk-ee' but it is a fact of life. We all poop. I don't want to freak the Boy out by concuring the 'yuk-ee-ness' of defecation since he's on the edge of potty training. Wy isn't bothered by my lack of response though. He's busy climbing up onto the stool that we have in front of the bathroom sink so the Boy(s) can wash their hands and brush their teeth. Wy is doing neither of these activities though. He's using this higher perch to look down at me with a shit eating grin. I should also add that he is uncomfortably close to me. An arm length. Dig the picture (below). Imagine Wy standing on the stool instead of sitting, and me in place of E.



Not sure what he is up too (I'm actually afraid he might be thinking of jumping off the stool onto me, and well I'm taking a shit,) I decide to ignore him, and go back to the book I'm reading. When Wy had entered the bathroom, I had lowered that book to my lap which had covered up my genitalia. Reading it again, I bring it up closer to my face, and eyes, since I'm not wearing my glasses. This exposes my genitalia to Wy who is still looking at me with his shit eating grin.

Wy: "WOW!"

Me: "What?"

Wy: "DAAA!" In a booming, top of his lungs, excited voice, "'UR ENIS EEL-EE BIG!"
That Dear Readers translates to, DAD! YOUR PENIS IS REALLY BIG!

Full disclosure. My penis isn't that big. I also didn't have what Ethan would call a long penis or a 'election'. Nope it was just my average taking a poop penis. Nothing special. Yet, the Boy was really impressed, which I'm sad to say, gave me a slight ego boost. Well, until I realized he's 2 1/2 and is used to looking at his own penis, which because of his SHITTY Doctor (Dr. Haygood!) isn't really even circumcized. Ego trip over, I decided to again ignore Wy, but in the end that was impossible.

You see Dear Reader, a few seconds later, Wy, leaning over toward me on his stool, tipped it over, and fell onto my 'large' penis, and then rolled off onto the magazine rack that is next to our shitter. Nice.

Until I BLOG again...I was waiting on a moment.

It's in the things I do and say...

This is probably only funny to me, and my Mom. Someone getting kicked in the nuts funny. Ready?

My Mom's (the Boy(s) Granny) cancer doctor has a dog who has cancer. Seriously. You cant make this shit up. When Mom told me, my first question was, "Is he giving his dog chemo?" Mom laughed. You have too.

Until I BLOG again...FUCK cancer.

They're talking in a language I don't speak

Dinner at the Casa is nuts. I'm not sure what it is about that block of time between 5pm-7pm, but the Boy(s) are usually wound up like an 8 day clock. This makes sitting down to a family dinner extremely challenging. Factor in My Lovely Bride had Drunco in Southern Oklahoma so she passed the Boy(s) baton to me, pretty much, as soon as I entered the door, and well, it is hard.

Remember all the times I've told you I'm an idiot? For those that think maybe I'm trying to be funny, or being hard on myself, dig this. I decided last night, at dinner time, crazy time, that was a good time for me to have the cancer conversation with the Boy(s).

It went pretty well considering the subject matter. I talked myself into a few corners, but, again, I'm an idiot so you'd expect that I would illustrate what bald is be citing Uncle Chewning, only to realize that wasn't the smartest thing to say because the Boy(s) might assume he had cancer. Or was taking chemotherapy. So, I tried to explain male pattern baldness along with cancer, and chemotherapy, and all of that. During most of my talk, Wy Wy was more interested in playing with his ramen noodles than what I had to say on the subject. Ethan actually listened, and had a few questions for me. My favorite, "What's a wig?" at which point he hopped up from the dinner table (a no no at dinner time, that we half ass enforce) and grabbed an old ball of play-dough that was by the art table (which is near our dinner table.)

Knowing what the Boy had in mind, I said, "Ethan. Don't throw that...(as he threw it across the table hitting Wy on the top of the head, which was a pretty good shot.)

Fuming, "ETHAN!!!" I paused. Trying to stay in the now, count to 10, all the while looking at Wyatt, since my sight line was on the flight path of the play-dough, "Why didn't you obey me!"

As Ethan stood beside me stammering for an answer, Wyatt stopped playing with his ramen noodles and went from 0-60. He was pissed. He actually looked more upset than me.

"DA!" He shouted. "I'm not a baby! I'm a boy! Little boy!!!!"

Indeed. And I'm an idiot, who also talks fast and mumbles.

Until I BLOG again...Nothing's really making any sense at all.

Jesus of Suburbia

The Elder Boy has been telling people he can walk on water. Seriously. It is especially funny (to me at least) when he tells people from (or at) church that he walks on water. The strange, often uncomfortable look people give him. Classic.

He can walk on water though. I've seen him do it. If you went swimming with the Team, you would too. You see, Dear Reader, what he means when he says he can walk on water is that he is now tall enough to walk in the shallow end of most swimming pools. He can walk in the water.

Funny, how using on instead of in changes the connotation of his statement. The implication. You see, Dear Reader, me and my Lovely Bride have to sit the Boy(s) down this week and talk about cancer. How do you explain cancer to young children? Hair loss from chemotherapy? Uncertainty in treatment? Prognosis? Walking on water sounds pretty damn good if you ask me.

Until I BLOG again...FUCK cancer.

Longview

Morning often finds the Little Warrior in the den drinking milk and watching Max & Ruby on the tube, while the Elder Boy repairs to our bed to watch Cartoon Network. This all came about because I'm usually in the bedroom getting ready for work in the AM, and Ethan watching TV in our bed allows him a bit more Daddy time. You might ask yourself, what about Wy? Trust me, Wy is OK with this arrangement. I'll save how OK for a future BLOG entry, cause it is actually kind of funny and worth recording. But, back to my point, this AM, I was getting ready while Ethan lounged in the bed watching Tom & Jerry on Cartoon Network.

I was putting on my socks when the Boy stopped watching Tom & Jerry and said, "Dad?" Which is usually the intro for a barrage of questions.

"Yes?"
"I have a long penis."
"Excuse me?"
"I have a long penis."
"What?"
Looking at me, like the idiot I am, Ethan repeated slowly.
"I have a long penis."
"Really. You don't get that from me."
The Boy, not getting my joke, pulled down the covers and then his pajama bottoms enough to expose himself, as he said proudly, "See, I have a long penis."
"Boy, you have an erection."
"e...election?"
"No, erection. When your penis is hard, or long like that, you call it an erection."

Until I BLOG again...Some say,"Quit or I'll go BLIND." But it's just a myth