Dad Vs. Dad

Real Retirement

2006-12-12T13:12:00.000-05:00

Things happen to me everyday that I could write on this blog. I refuse to write anything serious or sad, as I find that to be a downer for me, and anyone that is reading. Serious and sad is for 60 minutes, or 20-20, not for a little blog that has an audience of 10. I can turn almost all situations into humor, which is the way I try to approach each day. I operate under the “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” theory. So Dad vs. Dad is strictly written with humor in mind.

I will not write about anything that is not somewhat funny. I will not write about my bad days, and I will not write about my negative happenings. I do not find any therapeutic value in writing about sad events, or fights and arguments. This particular approach of mine, limits what I can write about. I read, and have read many, many blogs. I find that most of them are decent, but are also very repetitive. Different events, and or experiences are written in the same way. Basically I am reading the same thing, over and over, and over again. My writing has become that same very thing. Different story, told the same way. I am repetitive in my writings. Funny stuff happens to me, and I tell the story. I tell the story the same way I told the last funny story. Rocky 6 comes to mind. Get over it Sylvester, move on to something else.

It was fun when it was fresh and new, but that was a long time ago. I can’t be just another blogger. I need to take my jokes to a new audience. I should go over to My Space, or whatever the hell it is called. I need to go be fresh and new again. No offense people, but the time has come to retire. I do not want to bore you with my meaningless rants any longer. I cannot be just another run of the mill blogger, and that is where I am heading.

Solo on Solo

2006-11-29T16:05:00.000-05:00

I knew that it would happen. I knew it would happen, but I did it anyway. I knew that some day I would have to explain myself, and that day has come. I told my son that Han Solo’s real name was Kyle Solo. I did this to avoid a major meltdown in the middle of the toy store. I did this a long time ago, and at the time it was a thing of beauty. I have posted about the event in the past, and was enamored with myself for my quick thinking and wisdom. I found my ability to improvise and adapt to be uncanny. Now I think, the jig may be up.

Kyle and Luke were just getting into Star Wars when I lied to him about Solo’s name. I never really thought that they would really get into Star Wars at the time; I just thought it was a fad. Now they play the Star Wars video games, and they watch the movies. They know more characters than I do. It is fun to watch how into it they get, but now I am caught. The other day Kyle walked up to me and said, “Dad, is Han Solo’s real name Kyle, or not?” I was a little puzzled at the question, but I looked up and said, “Yeah buddy, why do you ask?” He got a bit miffed, and put an angry look on his face and replied, “Well dad, you are the only person that I have ever heard call him Kyle. I have watched the movies and played the games, and nobody has ever called him Kyle. Did you make it up? Is his name Kyle Solo, or not?”

Now, I have been called on the carpet before. I have been pushed into a corner. I have been in these types of situations before, but never by a cute little 6 year old. He wanted an answer, and he wanted it at that very moment. I started thinking about telling him the truth. If I tell him the truth I can end this charade right now. He will be devastated, and he will hate me for a while, but he will get over it. He will ultimately come to terms with the fact that he does not have a namesake in the Star Wars saga. Or I can let the lie linger for a little while longer. I am sure that I can milk this for a few more months. He is not really talking to his friends about Star Wars yet. That is when the real problems will occur. Friends ruin everything, don’t they?

I was at a crossroads. I had to think, and I had to think fast. I had a decision to make that will impact me sometime in the near future. I decided that I have to do the right thing, so I let the lie linger. Yeah, and when his friends finally reveal that Han Solo’s real name is Han, I will tell Kyle that his friends are lying. “They don’t know what they are talking about.” I will say.

Copy Cat

2006-11-22T12:10:00.000-05:00

Bill, from Poop and Boogies, started the day with a shameless ploy for attention. He claims to blog for the love of it, but basically he is just a comment-seeking whiner. He has been unhappy with his site lately, and needed a little pick me up. I can’t believe that he would stoop to such levels. I am even more in shock at the response from you readers. He has had more action in three hours than he has had in the past week.

This got me to thinking. I should copy Bill’s idea. Hey people, can you comment on my site and tell me where you are from, and stuff? I need attention, and I want you people to show me the love. Thanks in advance for your support.

Sticker Shock

2006-11-20T08:49:00.000-05:00

I didn’t even do anything. I swear I have been a perfect angel. Well, sure, there is the occasional wise-ass remark. Every once in a while I may leave some things out where they don’t belong. Now and again I may be in a grumpy mood, but nothing I have done deserved what happened this weekend.

I was getting ready for the day. The kids had already been dressed, and they were eating their breakfast. I went upstairs and got dressed. I didn’t think anything of it. I went through the normal routine. Underwear first, socks second, then pants then shirt. This is the same way that I always get dressed. As I was putting my socks on, I felt a little pull or irritant, or scratch in the underwear region. I stood up, and did a little wiggle, and then I made the proper adjustments. The discomfort went away, and I went back to getting dressed. Everything seemed fine.

I went down stairs, and poured my third cup of coffee, and started towards the family room. As I was walking, another pull in the underwear region got me dancing. I was shaking one leg at a time to try to get the pain to stop. I hopped around for a bit to try and get the situation under control. Then it hit me; the blinding pain of hair being ripped from the skin. It stopped me in my tracks. What the hell is in my underwear? I had to check it out. It must be a bug. I must have ants in my pants. I thought that was just an expression, but here I am with something in my pants.

I am standing in the kitchen with my pants half down, and checking out my privates. Kyle and Luke are laughing at me and wondering why I am doing the jig, while being half naked. Then I find the culprit. Stickers. There are two stickers attached to my privates, and I have to get them off. I have only one question. What the hell are stickers doing in my underwear? I certainly did not put them there. Vicki! She sabotaged my underwear. She knew what the ramifications of putting stickers in my underwear would be. She claims she had nothing to do with it, but I have my eyes on her now. I will perform a thorough investigation of every pair of underwear, before I put them on.

It hurt like hell removing those stickers from my you-know-whats. My wife is clever, and she is out to get me. I will keep you all posted. She claims innocents in the entire devilish plan, but if not her, then Who?

Sticks and Stones

2006-11-13T13:31:00.000-05:00

We were sitting in the back yard enjoying the nice day. The boys were playing like boys do. They were rough, and rambunctious. Every once in a while Vicki or I would have to jump in and separate them from each other, but for the most part things were fine.

The game of tackle football had ended, and without me noticing at first, a rock-throwing contest broke out. First they were throwing our decorative rock for distance. At some point in the contest, accuracy was an added feature. Then, finally, like most of my boy’s games go, they were playing war with them. They were throwing rocks at each other. I stepped in, and broke up the rock battle. They were a little upset at me for stopping them, but I had to let them know it was not safe.

While I was trying to stop the rock war, Luke dropped all of his ammunition, and turned to walk away. Kyle was a little slower in giving up his weapons. He wanted to go back to throwing them for distance. As I was explaining to him that he had better drop the rocks, he looked at me, and dropped all but one. That last one went into the back of Luke’s head. So, Luke started crying, Kyle got sent to his room. Vicki went in to talk to Kyle about his left-handed fastball, and I was left to console Luke. I managed to get Luke to calm down, and he had a minor bump on his head, but was fine.

After a while, Kyle was allowed out of solitary confinement. When he did come out, I asked him what he had to say to his brother. I was expecting an apology. I wanted him to say he was sorry for using Luke’s noggin as target practice. I said, “Kyle, what you did was not nice. You should know better than to throw rocks at your little brother. Now what do you have to say to Luke?” He looked at me, then he looked at Luke and he said, “Luke, you’re slow, you should have ducked faster.”

Now, how do you parent that?

Blogger Governor

2006-11-06T16:20:00.000-05:00

Poop and Boogies is fabrication and Deceit.

P&B only writes the cute, lovable stories.

He sucks in his voters with pictures and anecdotes that make all believe he is sweet.

William is afraid to divulge his dark side, for fear of losing readers.

William is funnier from the dark side, but hides behind a Knight in Shinning Armor façade.

William is a Comment Monger, nothing more, nothing less.

If you want a blog that gets to the details of all aspects of life, you want Dad Vs Dad. DVD does not lie, cheat, or steal. DVD tells it like it is, no questions asked. (Most times that is, if my wife is really mad at me for something, I avoid writing anything about her that may get her even madder. Cause if she gets more mad, I go further in the dog house, but for the most part I tell it how it is.)

DVD should be your Blog for the next four years. DVD! Where the truth is told, and sometimes hurts. LW is a blogger of the people, for the people.

I am the Lawnwhisperer, and I approve of this message.

Hi Lawnwhisperer!

2006-11-06T11:33:00.000-05:00

Hi, my name is Lawnwhisperer, and I am a chipsanddipaholic. I have been clean for 12 days now. Let me tell you, it sucks.

This is not a self-imposed banning of my favorite snack; it is more of a joint venture between my wife and I. Somewhere about two or three weeks ago I had mentioned the possibility of the ban. It was a weak moment for me, and I said some things that I regret. I said, “If you don’t buy them, I won’t eat them!” I didn’t mean to say such things. I apologized a thousand times for making that remark. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. My wife has stood her ground, and has kept our house chips free. All this time, I have thought that my wife doesn’t listen to a word I say, and here she is listening. Go figure.

My love affair with chips goes deeper than just the chips. It’s the chips and dip combo. Yes I will eat chips alone, but they are simply not as good that way. Also, I have three favorite brands of chips. I like Lays, the popular national brand. I like Herrs, which is also a popular national brand. My favorite brand is Goods, which I believe is a brand from around where I live. How can a guy not like chips when his favorite brands put in a sentence is Lay Herr Good? I may be reading into that a bit, but I think that this is part of my affection to chips. Anyway, I have been chip free, and hating it. I am a pretzel and cracker guy for the time being. Pretzels and crackers suck.

Fit for a King

2006-10-31T07:47:00.000-05:00

I have been married for 9 years. 9 years. For almost 7 of those years she has been lying to me. For seven years she has been deceitful, and hurtful. She has kept a secret from me for the better part of seven years, but last night, I caught her. I don’t know if I can forgive her, but I will try. I am not sure that I will ever be able to believe her again, but I am willing to give her another chance. Most people would just walk out in this situation, but I will try to keep things together. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, if at first we try to deceive.” It goes something like that. Now, my wife has some explaining to do, and I will be listening. I will be listening to every word to try and find out when this lie started.

Last night I got home from work, and went through my normal routine. I noticed that there was something in the dryer, so I checked it out. The sheets were in there. They were all balled up, so I separated them, and continued running the dryer. A little later, after dinner, my wife was helping the kids with homework and stuff, so I decided I would go make the bed. I took the sheets from the dryer, and went up to the room. Then it happened. I caught her in the trap. “Hah”, I yelled. “YOU CAN SO MAKE A KING SIZED BED BY YOURSELF. THIS IS NOT A TWO PERSON JOB.”

For seven years my wife has asked me to help her make the bed. She claims that the bed is too big, and it is too hard to put the fitted sheet on the bed. She claims that the corners don’t stay on, and that it takes two people to do this job. Now, I don’t mind helping, but she always calls me to help while I’m in the middle of something. Or she calls me to help her make the bed, just as the Eagles are about to score, or just when I sit down. I ask her every time why, and her response is always, “John, this bed is too big, it can not be made by one person. It’s a two person job.”

Well, well, well. Her gig is up now isn’t it? I will agree that it is easier to make with two people. I will agree that when you do it yourself, it is annoying. I do not; however, believe that it is a two-man job. My wife has been leading me on for years. She has flat out lied to me, and I believed her. You know what? I bet my wife can cook. She wouldn’t? Would she?

Day Four

2006-10-27T07:53:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was so nice. I was at the highest comfort level at work. I was smiling and joking. I was happy and fun. Nothing was bothering me, or rubbing at me. It was just smooth sailing. I felt as though I was moving through the office, without ever taking a step. I was gliding. Do you want to know why I was this way? Cause yesterday was day four of the jeans.

I wore the same pair of jeans for four straight days, and let me just tell you, they don’t get any more comfortable than day four. On day Four, they just hang perfectly. There is no snags or grabs. There is no tightness or rubbing. On day four, the jeans just hang off of you. They are so loose. The crotch hangs lower, which lowers the chances of any chafing taking place. The waist is looser. If I didn’t wear a belt, they would fall down. Day four is a great jean day; there is absolutely no restrictiveness on day four.

The only problem with day four is that it is followed by day five. On day five, there is a very big decision to make. Wearing the same pair of jeans for five straight days is not unheard of, but could lead to people talking behind your back. A thorough inspection of the jeans is performed to make sure there are no coffee stains, or yesterday’s lunch stains, or grass stains. The jeans need to look clean, even though they have been worn for 4 straight days. The jeans will talk to you while you are getting ready too. Yeah, after four straight days, they are almost walking by themselves. “One more day, one more day. Think of the comfort level we are currently attaining. Think of how the next pair is going to feel. They are going to feel like you are sliding into a cardboard box. Wear me one more day.” Day five is very tempting, but I pretty much have stayed away from day five. Day one does suck; it is rough wearing clean stiff jeans.

Is there a way to get jeans to feel like day four, but be day one? Do I have to hire a stunt double? My stunt double would wear my jeans for the first three days, and then I take them on day four. Is there a way for me to do this? I don’t believe there is, but I know that every fourth day, I am as comfortable as I can get in a pair of jeans. I should start a jean company. Day Four Jean Co. Can someone lend me some money?

Where I've Been

2006-10-26T09:58:00.000-04:00

So I go out for a jog one morning in mid September. I was just trying to run off some steam, and get a little exercise. The morning jog turns into an all day jog. I ran clear across the county. I get to the county line, and I was not tired yet, so I kept running. The next thing you know, I am clear across the state. So, I decided to keep running. I ran for days, which turned into weeks. I grew a really long beard. I was running for so long, that people started to know me. They would run with me. Maybe you saw me go through your town. I was on the news in a couple of places. One time, one of the reporters that was running next to me stepped in a pile of dog shit, and he looked at me, and I said Shit Happens. They made a bumper sticker out of that saying I believe. Oh, you know what, I think I am confused. That wasn’t me, all of the above happened to Forest Gump. My bad. I have been busy though.

Actually, the reason I have not been blogging lately is that pirates abducted me. I was out in the ocean, rowing my boat. I was having a good old time. There I am, rowing my boat singing; “Row, Row, Row your boat, gently down the stream.” What? Why is that weird? What else would I be singing while rowing a boat? Hey, when you row your boat you sing what you want. When I am rowing my boat, I’ll sing what I want. I don’t make fun of your songs, whatever floats your boat is the way I see it.

Anyway, this pirate ship pulls up along side of my boat, and this one-eyed nut job tells me to give him all of my jewels. I’m like, “Dude, the only jewels I have are the Family Jewels, and actually you have to ask my wife for them. I am rowing a freaking dingy here. I have a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich, and a half a bottle of Coke. You are more than welcome to have that, but I have to get back to shore soon.” He gets all crazy on me and tells me to walk a blank and some stuff. He keeps calling me Matey, and growling at me. I start getting a little bent, and I say “Dude, do you want my freaking sandwich or not. Stop calling me Matey, my name is John. You need a freaking haircut, and your breath smells. Hey, what is that in those barrels that I see.” He then tells me that it is some kind of whiskey. So I was like, “Dude, why didn’t you say so?”

So I jumped on board and hung out for a couple of weeks. We cruised the ocean for a while, robbing other boats. It was fun. We sang songs. Mostly Row, Row, Row your boat. Then they dropped me off, and now I am back to blogging.

Island

2006-10-25T08:12:00.000-04:00

We have all heard the question, and thought about the answer. Well, recently at work the question came up again. “If you were to be stranded on a deserted island, but got to take one person with you, who would it be?” The question is something to that affect. It was funny to listen to some of the answers, but most were celebrities. Some of the guys were saying that they would want it to be the likes of Pamela Anderson, and Angelina Jolie, and whatever other famous hot chicks are out there. The women in the office were picking their idea of sexy men. They were leaning towards the Brad Pitts and Kenny Chesney types. Now, there was a clause thrown out on the Kenny Chesney pick, and it had to do with his cowboy hat. Without that hat, he loses some of his sexiness I guess, so they only want him if his hat is with him.

So, you understand the concept here. Someone asked me the question, and I answered pretty quickly, and confidently. I answered almost like I had thought this through before, but I never had. I said, “My brother Dan.” I got some funny looks, and laughter. “Yeah, make that, my brother Dan and a volleyball.” I had some explaining to do, so I did.

It goes like this, I don’t live in a fantasy world, so picking the hot celebrities is a waste of time. I would not take my wife, cause I would never want her to be stranded on a deserted island, she deserves better than that. If I am going to be stranded on an Island, I need to be with someone that can do stuff, like build huts, and make a boat. Dan’s the man. Dan is a handy son-of-a-gun. I could make a case for any one of my 7 brothers, but Dan wins, cause he can build shit. He can build shit, and he is not afraid of animals.

I can’t build anything, and the monkeys and lizards on the island would freak me out, so I need someone that can take care of all of that stuff. Dan is my choice for the one person I would be stranded on an island with. The volleyball would be there for me to talk to when Dan gets mad at me. Yeah, Dan gets mad when he is doing projects. At some point in the middle of building our bamboo hut, I would mess something up. He would call me an F-ing idiot, and tell me to get the hell away from the vines that we are using to tie the beams together. He would curse at me some more, and I would walk away. I would walk away from the building site and sit down next to Wilson, and say, “You know Wilson, Dan can be an asshole at times, but that sure is a nice hut we have there.”

Funerals Are Funny.

2006-10-24T09:02:00.000-04:00

Guest Post by Momo 9. Mother of the Lawnwhisperer and William (and others but they don't count).

I love my Mom and Dad. I know they are both enjoying each other in their heavenly paradise. They both lived long happy lives. Mother outlived Daddy by 4 years. Those four years were difficult for her and for us. Most of us have families and friends to help us get through the sad times. Mom’s grief was so deep, we couldn’t help her. Her health was not the best. She was wheelchair bound for about 25 years (Arthritis, hip and knee replacements 4 times over). She was not a complainer. She was truly a happy person till Daddy died. Depression consumed a lot of her days. She struggled through it. This past August she died suddenly. It was quick for her, sad for us. When we were making funeral arrangements with the local undertaker, who was a friend of the family, one of my sisters commented that Mom was very self conscious of her rolls. Those little fat deposits that form under the bra and go all the way around the back. When my sister asked why, now at 85 years old, these bothered her, my Mom said she didn’t want Harry to see her like this. Dad’s name wasn’t Harry.

My sister of course was shocked. “Harry who?” she asked. My Mother replied with the last name of the funeral director. “Harry will see me naked. I wish I didn’t have these rolls on my body.” My sister laughed and said,”You’ll be dead, so you won’t be embarrassed”. And Harry won’t care. We did naturally share this with Harry. He did laugh!

Another funny thing happened. After we all left the hospital (when Mom had passed away). We met at her house to discuss particulars. Someone asked, “Where are her teeth?” Her teeth? She still had most of her own teeth, but there was a plate that she wore to fill in some upper blank spots. Why do we want her teeth? Well maybe the funeral person will have a tough time getting her jaw to look normal. Some of us actually started to look for her teeth. We didn’t find them. She wasn’t going to need them where she was going anyway. Then we figured, if they weren’t in the normal cup where she kept them overnight, they must be in her mouth. We actually LOOKED for her teeth!

My mother had several canes, 2 wheelchairs, and an electric scooter. At her viewing, one of her children and a son-in-law showed up with canes, Neither of them had used a cane before. My one son commented to me that Mom-Mom wasn’t even in the ground yet, and folks were taking her stuff (meaning the canes). It happened they were not my mother’s canes, but both people needed them for health reasons that day. Just looked odd to my son.

I can remember, at a funeral of a friend, a long time ago, our family was lined up in pews in back of the church. During the service someone got a fit of laughing, and we all started to laugh. It was one of those contagious things. One person to the next. We all lost control. We had to leave, it was so bad. To this day, I don’t know what we were laughing about.

Guess the funny little things, help us get through the gut –wrenching pain that we feel when losing a loved one. Thank God for humor.

Why do people always say at a viewing that the dead look good? Dead people look dead. They do not look GOOD! Why do people always say that?

Guest Post by Momo 9

2006-10-06T11:08:00.000-04:00

Like the rest of you, I’m tired of looking up this blog and being “Shit On” everyday. The “Whisperer” has been slacking with his posting. Time to get rid of that title.

50th Reunion

I attended the reunion of my 8th grade class last weekend. It has been 50 years since we graduated. It was so fun! We didn’t know each other. Why? Most of us have not kept in touch over the years. We are strangers to each other. But we had fun!

One of the guys mentioned how tall he thought I was in eighth grade. Duh! He was one of the shortest boys in the class. I had reached my adult height in 8th grade. He was still growing. Now he is taller than me. He couldn’t figure that out. Girls mature so much sooner than boys.
One of the guys who had a full head of curly hair in eighth grade is BALD as can be now!
Some of us have added a few pounds to our bodies.(well, okay, a lot of pounds). Most of us have gray hair now (all of us, but some hide the color with Clairol).

If we didn’t have nametags, we would all have been in the dark, as to who was who.
We attended a Catholic grade school. It was fun to remember each other and think about the good times together. We all have fond memories. Some of us had a bad experience or two, but the good outweighed the bad. Some of us remember nothing (Alzheimers setting in?).

Catching up on the last 50 years was the best. Talking about kids and grandkids and work and retirement was the highlight of the day. The thick bond of elementary school brought these strangers back to friendship again! Now we have a whole new group to meet with and chat with and grow old together with. How nice is that? Awesome! I’m having lunch next week with a woman that I’m renewing a friendship with, after 40 years. We are both excited about this.

Advice: Go to all your reunions! Don’t wait 50 years! They can fun and rewarding!

Shit On

2006-09-14T12:20:00.000-04:00

It’s a common phrase, and it is used in many different situations. When the workday does not go as planned, and the customers are beating you up. You go home and the wife asked how your day was, you reply, “It sucked, I got shit on all day.” You go out with the boys for a day of golf, and you get killed. You shoot a bad round, and the other guys tear it up. You go home and the wife asks how you did, “I was horrible, the other guys shit on me.”

You get the gist, to be shit on, is a negative. It sucks. It means it was a bad day, or experience. It means that others treated you badly, and it was not a good experience. In other words, you do not want to be shit on. So I take Kyle to his soccer practice last night. It was a nice breezy evening and I was winding down from my miserable workday. The last few have been bad, and I was finally enjoying the down time. I was sitting alone, enjoying the air, and the calmness. Kyle was practicing with his team, and I was clearing my head of all negatives. It was nice, I was unwinding.

Off in the distance I noticed a flock of geese coming my way. It is obviously the beginning of the migrating south thing. There had to be 50 of them in the silly V shape that they fly in. They were making that annoying honking sound, as they got closer. Now, I learned a long time ago that you do not look up when there is a flock of birds flying overhead. So I looked down toward the ground as they passed my location. Don’t you know one of those bastards shit on me! It hit me right on the shoe. Some people believe that it is good luck to be shit on by a bird. I think it is gross. I hate geese, go south already!

Green Beans, yuk.

2006-09-12T12:39:00.000-04:00

Dinnertime at my house is a bit of a chore. It is not a chore that I have to cook most nights; cause I have come to grips with that aspect of my wife, I mean my life. It is a chore to get the boys to both eat at the same time, and in a timely manner. Kyle is a slow eater. When I say slow, I would want everyone to picture a worm sliding across the driveway after a heavy rainstorm. Luke is a very fast eater. By fast, I would want everyone to picture how quick my wife could fake sleeping when I am trying to get some action. Kyle doesn’t like anything, and Luke likes everything. So it is a pain in the ass.

The other night Vicki had to run out to the store. The boys and I were eating, and she decided to go then. Right before she walked out the door, she hesitated and said, “Maybe I should wait until they are done eating, cause you won’t make them finish their dinner.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “I will make them finish.” She shook her head and said, “No you won’t, they will wear you down, and you will throw it away, and then tell me that they finished. I will come home and you guys will be eating cookies and watching TV, and the dinner will be in the trash can.”

I denied such shenanigans, and waited for her to leave. After she left, I had to do a sweep for hidden cameras. How the hell did she know that I do that? I can’t sit there and force my kids to eat green beans. You’re damn right that they go down the garbage disposal, when she is not looking, but how does she know that? The kids and I have a code of silence on such topics, or so I thought. Cause when Vicki walked in from the store, and we were sitting on the couch, eating popsicles, and watching TV, the first thing she said was, “Luke did you eat all of your dinner?” He looked at her, then he looked at me, and he said, “No, dad took it.”

That damn Luke. From here on out, he has to finish his green beans. Kyle and I will watch TV and eat cookies by ourselves.

Surprise Attack

2006-09-06T16:27:00.000-04:00

I am a little embarrassed. I feel a tad bit ashamed right at this moment. I am having trouble looking people in the eye today. This is not my normal behavior, as I am a relatively happy person with a hint of cynicism and grumpiness. But all in all, I am an OK guy. Today, I am not myself. I feel a bit betrayed, with a touch of humiliation.

I had a doctor appointment today. It was a basic check-up. I had not been there for a while, so I was just following up on my ailments and aches. My doctor has known me for a while, and she knows that most of these ailments are of the mental variety, but she plays along pretty well. Yes, my doctor is a lady. Well, she is a female. She hardly acted like a Lady today.

We started the appointment with the typical pleasantries. The Hello’s and the how are you’s. She did some blood pressure stuff and some listening to the lungs stuff. Things were going along fine, and she was giving me a speech about something, when in the middle she mentioned something about a rectal exam. “Whoa, what was that you just said?” I interrupted. She went through her reasoning again, and I said, “I’m only 37, you don’t have to do that until I’m 40!!!” “John” she said, “It is not just for 40 year olds, and I want to be sure everything is fine.”

So, two minutes later, she stuck her finger up my ass. There is no real way to describe a finger being stuck up your ass. It is not pleasant. My elbows are on the bench, my pants are around my knees, and the doctor’s finger is up my ass, and she says, “You should be thankful that you have a female doctor, cause my fingers are thinner.”

My doctor surprise attacked me. There is no way in hell that I would have gone to that appointment if I knew she was going to stick her finger up my ass. I was violated. I have to change doctors now. I can never look her in the eye again. Not after what she did, and how she did it. I was just starting to like her too.

Rough Night

2006-09-05T11:16:00.000-04:00

The prettiest tree that I have at my house is a Southern Magnolia Tree. This thing is absolutely beautiful. I apparently planted it in a perfect place for it to withstand wind and weather. I have been complimented on its beauty many times. I take care of my trees and shrubs, and this one is by far the best.

This past weekend, we had the remnants of Ernesto hit us in Pa. It was a windy, and rainy miserable couple of days. Friday night into Saturday was the worst. The kids and I do not like sleeping in such conditions, and I knew it was going to be a long night. I decided to take the kids into my room, and let Vicki sleep in one of the other beds. This way, she could get a good night of sleep, and I would tend to the scared little boys. So the wind is howling and the rain is pelting the house, and the boys and me are just staring at the ceiling. We were huddled up in the middle of the bed with our stuffed animals and blankets. We were braving the storm, when the noise started. It was a scratching, clawing noise. It was spooky.

“What is that?” asked a scared Luke. “I don’t know buddy, why don’t you go check it out?” I replied. He wouldn’t do it. So I turned to Kyle and begged him to go check it out. He wanted no parts of it. The noise was eerie, and I was not about to get out from under the blankets. My kids were way to scared to move, and I was too chicken to move. I tried calling for my wife. She was resting comfortably in Luke’s room. She could not hear my calls for help. She is the checker-outer in our house. She was not there to comfort us boys. I finally mustered up some courage to go check the noise. I told the boys that they were grounded for a week, for making me do it, but I did. I went over to the window, and looked outside. My Southern Magnolia Tree was scratching against the siding of the house, and banging on the window.

In one swift cat-like motion I dove back into bed, and under my pillow. I made the boys hold me, and we all fell off to sleep. Well, I slept with one eye open. On Monday, the weather was better. So I went out in the front yard and made some changes. I now have a Southern Magnolia Twig in my front yard. I Charlie Browned that Magnolia. There will be no more scratching on my window. My boys are banned from any fun for a week. They need to toughen up. They can be such scaredy-cats sometimes. They need to grow up.

First Grade Trouble

2006-09-01T10:56:00.000-04:00

Would Superman be ok with his son going to first grade, and the teachers name being Mrs. Kryptonite? No!

Do you think that Elliot Ness would like it if his kid’s first grade teacher were named, Mrs. Capone? I don’t think so.

Batman would probably pull his kid out of school if the teachers name was Mrs. Riddler.

Phil Mickelson would not be too keen on one of his kids having a teacher named Mrs. Woods, or Mrs. Tiger.

I am the Lawnwhisperer. I spend most of my free time taking care of the lawn. I do everything in my super powers to rid my lawn of crabgrass and weeds. Weeds are my archenemy. Why then, is Kyle’s first grade teacher named Mrs. Weed? There is no way in hell that this is going to work. She seems like a nice woman, and Kyle seemed to like her, but I couldn’t even look at her. All I can picture is dandelions and stuff. She can’t teach my kid. I can’t have it. I want him moved to a different class. My wife thinks I am crazy, but I just can’t see the son of the Lawnwhisperer, being lead by a weed. Am I wrong to feel this way?

Wishful Thinking

2006-08-24T07:23:00.000-04:00

While on vacation last week, we went to a place for lunch. Kyle and Luke were a bit antsy, and my nerves were fraying. Vicki’s nerves were already shot, so I had to do something to calm the kids down. We were sitting out on the deck of the restaurant, and over the rail was a well with a little pond. I had a bunch of change in my pocket, so I got the boys to come over and make some wishes.

I gave them both a handful of change so that they could throw the money into the well and make a wish. Kyle was not happy about it. He said, “Dad, this doesn’t work. Wishes don’t come true.” I talked him into making a few wishes and explained that he had to be a believer. Luke was all fired up about being able to make some wishes, and told me multiple times that he is indeed a believer. I finally convinced Kyle to just make some wishes, and see what happens.

So the boys start tossing the change in and making some wishes. I overheard one of Kyle’s wishes. He wished that we had two kinds of ice cream in the freezer when we got home from vacation. I called Kristin later on that day and asked her to go buy this ice cream and make sure it was there when we got back. I was going to make a believer out of Kyle. Sometimes I am so smart that it kills me. This was easily one of my brightest parenting moves to date. It was so easy.

We get home from vacation and after a while, we show Kyle the freezer. He saw the ice cream and got all excited. “Oh my god, one of my wishes came true. Luke, Luke, wishes do come true. I wished for ice cream, and we have it in the freezer.” With this Luke jumps up and starts running down the basement. I say, “Hey, where are you running off to?” He is going so fast that he is tripping over his own feet and he says, “I wished for a pinball machine, I want to go see it.”

Shit, the plan backfired. Now I have to explain to Luke why his wish did not come true, but Kyle’s did. Trying to explain such nonsense to a five year old is impossible. I managed to turn Kyle into a believer, but also managed to turn Luke into a nonbeliever. Luke is not only mad that his wish did not come true, but he wants his money back. He wants me to take him back to the well so that he can get his dimes. Me, I wish I never took them to the damn wishing well in the first place, but I am enjoying having the ice cream in the house.

Puzzling

2006-08-23T08:03:00.000-04:00

I have seen it a ton of times. Every TV show with an investigation goes through it. You know, the ‘who done it’ shows. In every episode they are all looking for the same thing. The guy and girl investigative team is torn. (Apparently you can’t have a cop show anymore unless you cast a guy-girl partner tandem.) They go sit in the captain’s office and are bringing him up to speed. Somewhere along the line, somebody says this “Sir, we’re getting close, we just need to find that last piece of the puzzle.”

So all of these people are frustrated and agitated that they can’t find that last piece of the puzzle. They are working day and night to find that puzzle piece. It is an all-consuming life that takes on a meaning of its own, when that puzzle piece is missing. Everybody involved is out to find that puzzle piece. Well, I know how they feel. I could be on one of those shows, cause I have real life experience on this topic.

Luke and I were at home alone, and we put a puzzle together. We put the entire thing together, and there is a piece missing. The piece is smack in the middle of the puzzle. Luke made me look everywhere. It became an all-consuming project. I was prepared to work through the night. I was turning the room upside down, when Vicki walked in. She asked what we were doing and I had to tell her. I said, “Hon, We have been looking everywhere, we need to find the last piece of the puzzle.” So, my wife started to help us look. Here we were, a guy-girl partner investigative team, looking for the last piece of the puzzle. We could be on TV.

We have not found the piece yet. The puzzle still rests on the coffee table, finished, except for that piece. It is disturbing to me that we have not found it. But someday I will find it. I will find the missing piece of the puzzle.

The Birds and the Bees

2006-08-13T21:33:00.000-04:00

I know it is a little bit early. I know that it is hard for most people to even attempt to bring up the subject. It has only been six and a half years, and most people say you should wait until 12 or 13 years to have the talk. I was absolutely tired of waiting, and decided that now was as good a time as ever. I needed to get this stuff off of my chest, so I gathered everyone involved, and we met out on the patio. I had the talk on Sunday morning, and it was pretty straight forward, and to the point.

I started with the birds. I said, “Birds, what the hell is your deal? Why do you go around shitting on all of my stuff, at every chance you get? You don’t see me shitting in your nest, so why do you shit on my house? I know damn well that you are sitting up in a tree watching me wash my car, and you wait exactly until the car dries to come and make a mess. I know you think that that is funny, but guess what, it’s not. And you know what else? The grass seed that I spread is for the damn lawn, it is not for you to snack on. It is not for you and all of your kind to eat all up, before it ever germinates. That is why people put birdfeeders out in their lawn. If I wanted to feed you, I would do that. Also, when I am out cutting the grass, leave me the hell alone. I do not find it to be cute for you guys to dive bomb me while I am working. If you guys are just playing that is fine, but go to a freaking playground to play. We can certainly coexist, but you will have to live by my rules.”

The birds seemed ok with the conversation, so I then turned towards the bees. I said, “Guys, listen up. If I am weed whacking around a tree, and just so happen to get close to your nest, you do not need to get all angry and upset. There is no need to come out all buzzing and nasty, and chase me all around my yard. Do you know how silly I look, when I am running around in circles waving my arms and screaming obscenities? My neighbors do not need to see that. I have no desire to get your honey. I don’t even like honey. You can keep it. I will only be around the tree for a second or two, and then I am gone. Chill the hell out will you? Also, my shed is for my tools and things. Stop finding every nook and cranny, and starting one of your little honey comb things. There are plenty of places on my neighbor’s yards for you to set up shop for your precious little queen. What is the deal with that whole queen thing anyway? Is she a real queen or one of those figurehead queens like England has? Cause if she is just a figurehead; tell her to get her own pollen. She can’t have you beheaded or anything. You guys don’t even have heads, do you? We can all get along just fine, but you have to live by my rules, screw your queen.”

The conversations went pretty good. I think we are all on the same page now. I don’t understand why people make such a fuss about the Birds and The bees conversation. It was pretty easy. You just have to open up, and explain the truth. It’s not that hard, really. It is apparently one of the most awkward times for a parent, but trust me, it’s not that bad.

Choosing My Religion

2006-08-11T09:23:00.000-04:00

At the time when we were deciding on where to get married things were a bit goofy. I was raised Catholic. My wife was raised Episcopalian. My soon to be stepdaughter was being raised catholic, and even attending catholic school. My wife is Episcopal but raising her kid to be catholic. This may sound strange to you, but it is apparently a tradition in my wife’s family. See, my mother-in-law is catholic, but raised my wife Episcopalian. So we had to have some debates over which church to use as our church. The Catholic Church had some issues, cause they always do. The Episcopal Church that my wife went to was too small. So we said fuck–it, and got married in a Presbyterian church.

So a Catholic and an Episcopalian got married Presbyterian. What’s wrong with that? It’s normal, isn’t it? Not only did we get married Presbyterian, but we had a female minister. Not only was she a female minister, I think quite possibly that she was a lesbian. (Not that there is anything wrong with that) So we have a bunch of Catholics coming to a Presbyterian church, where the head of the service is a female who quite possibly is a lesbian. The Catholics were probably having a fit. My wedding service was awesome. The minister was awesome. The little church with no AC was awesome.

My brothers were all groomsmen, and they got real ballsy in the Presbyterian Church. If I got married in a catholic church, not one of them would have the balls to behave the way they did. They all felt that they could get away with more, because they did not have that catholic guilt thing going. They did not have the fear of god in them that day. So they did things, like have our rings delivered by a UPS man. There is a story behind that, but I can’t get into it right now. That was some funny stuff.

So, my wife and I got married by a neutral party. I now have three separate religions that I am a part of. For me it is easy to understand, but my kids are a bit confused. Yeah, keeping up with my wife and her family tradition we are raising our kids opposite of what we are. Actually, we took this to a new level. Kristin is Catholic, Kyle is Episcopalian, and Luke is Presbyterian. It gets a bit confusing on Sunday’s but so far we are doing O.K.

What a Day

2006-08-10T10:23:00.000-04:00

9 years ago yesterday, was one of the happiest, most fun days of my life. The entire family got together on my behalf. Everyone was there. All of my brothers were there. My cousin Mike V was there. My buddies, Greg and Jerry were there. They were all there for me. We were just hanging out, doing guy stuff. The memories of this day are still some of the most vivid that I have. There is nothing better than being the center of attention on a fun filled day.

We started this day semi-hung over. The night before was one of partying, and drinks. When we all came out of our fogs, we went over to the golf course. It was a hot day, but it is never too hot to golf. We were only playing chip and putt, but we were all enjoying ourselves. I got to witness my brother Kevin get a hole in one. To this day, it is the only good golf shot that he has ever had. I’m pretty sure that I won that day too. They were letting me win, cause this was my day.

After the golf we were all a bit parched. We needed something to drink, so we all went back to my house. We had beer there, and we had a ping-pong table. So the natural thing to do when those two things cross paths is to play beer-pong. We played this for hours. There are really no winners or losers in beer-pong, cause everyone gets to drink. Some just drink more than others. Some of the guys were having a bit too much fun, but it was my day, and I was OK with it. We kind of trashed the house that day. We made quite a mess.

Oh yeah, I also got married on this day. So we all had to scurry about and get dressed when the Limo’s showed up. I had a bunch of semi-drunk groomsmen trying to get into their tuxes. It was kind of like a Chinese fire drill in the house. We made it to the church, everyone sucking on mints and chewing gum. I don’t think it worked though, I think some people were on to us. My wife was freaking smoking hot, of course, and she actually went through with the service. No, I was not crying. It was hot in there. There was no AC in the church, and it was August for god sake. The sweat was dripping into my eyes. That is why they were watering. My voice was cracking because I had been hooting and hollering during the beer-pong marathon, and was a little horse in the throat. I wasn’t crying, seriously. Anyway it was a great day. Any day you get to get all the guys together for golf and then beer-pong is a good day. Oh yeah, and a wedding.

Karate Kids

2006-08-09T07:46:00.000-04:00

My wife signed the boys up for Karate. My first thought when she told me this, was, “why the hell would you sign too little maniacs up for something like that?” All I could think of was their sparring matches. I could see the stitches. I could hear the bones breaking. I could see the blood, and I could see the trips to the emergency room. My kids already do their share of fighting with each other, and now we are going to have them taught on the proper techniques. This just seemed crazy to me.

After I let the information settle in, I started to look on the bright side. I will never have to wax my car again. The boys will do that, they teach it in Karate. I will never have to paint anything again either. The kids will be taught how to paint the fence in Karate. If they know how to paint a fence, they will certainly know how to paint a house. I will not have to pay someone to re-do my kitchen floor. Nope, the kids will do it. They teach kids how to sand the floor in Karate too. I will save money on bug spray too. The kids will be able to catch flies with chopsticks; so, I will have them stand next to me when the mosquitos are bad. So, Karate could end up being a positive. My kids will learn how to do household chores, and I will have more time for golf. That’s not so bad.

Full Moon and Thunderstorms

2006-08-08T13:19:00.000-04:00

On one side of the sky the Moon was full,
It was shining high and shining bright.
On the other side the Thunder was clapping,
With sporadic bolts of light.

From my vantage point, from the where I stood.
This was a pretty amazing sight.
But I didn’t stay long, to view this sky,
Cause I knew I was in for a long night.

A full moon by itself is enough to spook me,
A kind of strangeness comes through the air.
It brings out the worst in all kinds of people.
And of course I know the werewolves will be there.

When you add in a thunderstorm to the mix,
It brings on a whole new meaning to Scare.
The kids get nervous and start to cry,
But I don’t have the time to care.

I can’t console them, when I need some consoling,
Soothing words from me won’t be said.
I can’t be worried about what they need,
I have to get the pillows up over my head.

Don’t come to me in times of fright.
You better go to your mother instead.
I need my flashlight and survival kit,
If you care to join me, I’ll be under the bed.

Lightning Crashes

2006-08-07T09:18:00.000-04:00

Lightning is not supposed to strike the same place twice. That is the way the saying goes, and I always believed it. But this weekend, I got screwed. It hit again. Well, it is not exactly lightning that hit, but the bolt of shock and pain, and agony of having to coach little kids soccer.

I coached Kyle’s team in the spring. I had ten 6 and 7 year-olds. I did not do all that great of a job. I do not know soccer because I never played soccer. The only thing I really taught my kids was how to keep score. If I brought anything to the table for those ten kids, it was how to tell when they were getting their ass kicked. The best part about the season was when it was over. Well, lightning has struck again. Now I am Luke’s coach. Now I have 14 kids on the 5 and under team. 14 kids at 5 years and younger! Why, why did somebody do this to me? What have I done to deserve this? Who has it in for me out there? I am not that good of a soccer coach, I proved that already, but then they pick me again. Oh boy, November can’t come quick enough.

Rules

2006-08-03T15:41:00.000-04:00

Rules; every family has them. Every family has a certain set of guidelines that turn into the rules of the family. I grew up with such rules, but there were not many. Actually, there was only one that really mattered. Rule number one was don’t hit your brother. This rule was really the only one that got you in any kind of trouble. We could pretty much do anything else, short of burning down the house, but if one of us hit another, we were in some shit. Yes, the rule is don’t hit your brother. Yes, we do have a sister. Skipper (dad) did not need to make the rule say, don’t hit your brother or your sister. The reason for her exclusion was simply that none of us were brave enough to even think about hitting her. She’d kick our ass with one hand tied behind her back, and the other hand holding a cigarette. She was a bad ass.

A distant second on the rule list was, don’t play ball in the house. This rule was rarely enforced. We figured out pretty early that what this rule actually meant was; don’t break anything while playing ball in the house. You were not going to get in trouble for having a football catch between the kitchen and the living room, as long as you were catching the ball. So you had to be smart about whom you were playing catch with. If Kevin and I were having a catch, things were fine. We could put the ball over the table but under the light, and still catch it. This could go on for a good bit, and be damage free. Now, if Bill was on the other end of that catch, you had to be prepared to hide and finger point. Cause there was definitely going to be a broken picture frame or something. We kids had our own rule when it pertained to playing ball in the house. If Bill and I were responsible for the broken picture frame (really it was Bill, I have great hands.), we would not throw each other under the bus. No, we would blame a third party. “I don’t know what happened mom, we saw Dan in there earlier.”

The only other rule that I can truly remember being enforced was the 10:00 rule. Skipper was adamant about this one too. The phone in our house was absolutely not allowed to ring after 10:00 PM. Skipper worked his ass off, and we he went to bed, he wanted to sleep. We all had our girlfriends, and Sharon had boyfriends, and talking on the phone was common. If one of our friends or girlfriends called after 10, it was over. My dad used to say, “If you don’t tell them to call you earlier, then I will.” Trust me, you didn’t want that. I’ve seen him do it, and that girl would never call back. So again, we siblings developed our own rule. It was an unwritten rule, but we all had each other’s back on this one. If that phone rang after 10, you had to do whatever was necessary to beat dad to the phone. Even if you knew it was not for you, you were protecting some body else. If you were in the bathroom, naked, you had to get there. We became phone answering ninja’s. We could hear the phone from the shower, and before the second ring, have it answered. Once we were all trained, the phone would be answered on a half ring. To this day, I won’t call my parents house past 10:00. You know what else, I hate when my phone rings after 10:00.

Sad Conversation

2006-08-02T13:44:00.000-04:00

I don’t like it anymore than you do. As a matter of fact, this will hurt me more than it hurts you. I am only doing what is best for you in the long run. Sometimes in life, you have to take a step backward before you can move forward. I would never intentionally harm you, without it being something that is necessary. I know you don’t understand it right now, but someday you will thank me. I will see you in a few weeks. You will be fine. You will come back, being better than you are now. It is for your own good. I promise, I will be here waiting for you.

The above conversation took place last night, just before the sun went down. It was very hard on both of us. The things that you have to do when you are a caretaker are not always easy. We both shed a tear or two, but we will get through it. I am renting a Thatching mower this weekend, and it will make my lawn look a little bad for a while. All true Lawnwhisperers know that this is needed to make your lawn the most healthy and beautiful. The thatching mower will scrape at the surface, and pull all the junk from the soil. This will allow for the nutrients to get to the roots of the grass. The grass will love me later, but will be sad for a couple of weeks. This news was very hard to tell the lawn. Mid August is the best time for reseeding, or over seeding. The time is here Lawn. I am sorry, but it is for the best.

I'm Batman

2006-07-31T09:16:00.000-04:00

This weekend we rented Batman Begins. With 6 and 5-year old boys in the house, Batman is a pretty popular character. William would be ashamed of my fathering ideals if he knew that I let my kids watch Batman, you know with the Thomas the Tank Engine scandal still fresh in everyone’s mind. So I am not going to tell Bill that we watched it. I am not going to tell him that I also got the Batman Begins XBOX game. The boys and I played it this weekend a couple of times, and it is pretty cool. As I was watching this movie, and playing the game, I realized that I am very similar to Batman. Yes, Batman and I have some similar traits.

Bruce Wayne is a very rich guy. I am not a very rich guy, but I would not mind being one. See, similar. Bruce is afraid of bats. I am afraid of dogs. Do you see where I am going here? This character and I are on a similar path. Batman goes out in the night dressed up all in black so that he cannot be seen. If I go out in the night, I have a flashlight, with back-up batteries, and I wear a fluorescent orange vest with strobe lights attached. This way, I will be seen. He likes the dark night, I hate the dark night. Actually, it is scary how much we have in common. Batman will go into an alley to fight off crime. I will avoid dark alleys because there is crime.

I was watching the movie and marveling at how graceful Batman is when he jumps from building to building. His cape extends like a hang glider and he soars through the air. Well, one time, I fell out of bed, and managed to pull the comforter over top of me and use it as a cushion. It was a neat little move, and I avoided injury. I now realize why my boys love me so much. It is because they think I am like Batman. I am a super hero, and they love super heroes. I am just like Batman. Can you see the similarities? It’s uncanny.

48 Hours Investigates...

2006-07-26T11:34:00.000-04:00

Last night I watched 48 Hours. I like these investigator shows. These shows are usually about murder and stuff, and how they did or didn’t find the bad guy. Investigative reporting is the basic concept. I want to hire this 48 Hours crew to come to my house. I have some things that I need straightened out. Granted, it is not murder that I am talking about, but the issues that I have need to be addressed by somebody. I believe that 48 Hours can help.

Following are the issues that I want investigated.

My wife does not shop very often, and she cooks even less. Why the hell then, am I still a fat ass? There is no food in the house, and nobody cooking it, yet I can gain weight. It’s a mystery worth looking into.

Next, I need to know if my wife really has a headache, everyday. “Not now, I have a headache.” If we find out that she really does have a headache, then she should go see a doctor. There has to be someone out there that could help her with this problem, and I am only concerned about her health. If the 48 Hours team finds incriminating evidence that shows she is lying, then she has some explaining to do.

I would also like the team to take a look into Luke. I was a quiet, reserved, shy young kid. I did not get into trouble. I did not antagonize my brothers, or my sister. I was nice and calm. That being said, why is Luke such a piece of work? Did any of my genes even make it into his make-up? Is a DNA test required here?

Kyle should also be investigated. He is a smart little guy. He reads like a champ. He thinks things through. He is pleasant to others. He only really fights with his brother, but that is normal. He is far more intelligent than I ever was, so again I have to ask, did any of my genes make it into his make-up? Is a DNA test required?

I have a question about Kristin that needs some extra attention as well. Does she know that she has me wrapped around her finger? I try to hide this fact, but she plays me well. She gets all sweet, and brings me stuff home, like chips and dip, and then I’m buying her Ipods and stuff. She is a sweetie by nature, then she turns it up a notch, and she’s getting away with everything. I need 48 Hours to investigate if my cover is blown or not.

So, as you can see, there are some true issues over here that I would like a quality investigative team to get involved in. I am a guy that doesn’t have any food, yet am a fat ass, and a guy that gets very little action, yet has three kids. How are these things possible? It came down to 48 Hours or Magnum P.I., and I think Magnum is retired, so 48 Hours it is.

Of Mice and Men

2006-07-25T11:29:00.000-04:00

I finally got serious about my pest problems. I finally took the first step towards ridding my lawn of unwanted quests. My wife refers to our place as The Lawn for Unwed Mothers. Every animal comes to my place, and it appears that they come to have babies. At first she found this to be cute, when it was rabbits, but now she is even getting annoyed. It took the baby groundhog on the patio to finally admit that it was time for me to go on a killing spree. I have started my quest. I have my orders from the boss. She wants me to get rid of them, and get rid of them all.

I am fertilizing the yard. I am putting my Scott’s Summer Guard down. I use Scott’s because as all Lawnwhisperer’s know, this is the best product available. I am going through the lawn in a distinct pattern. In order to do it properly, there has to be a charted plan. You can’t miss any spots, and you can’t use too much in one spot. I have this chart locked away in a safe. I can’t have anyone steal my secrets to fertilizing, so I have to keep it secure. Kyle and Luke have the combination, just in case anything would happen to me, they could carry on the whispering. I am walking along the thirty- third parallel, 23 degrees north-northwest. I have my Ipod on and am enjoying the sunshine. I believe the song is Paradise City, from Gun’s and Roses. This song is like my house’s theme song. “Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.” This is a perfect song as my wife and daughter are very pretty, and well my grass is green. I am pushing my spreader at a decent pace when suddenly I see something dart under the wheel. The wheel bumps, and I stop.

Lying there is a field mouse. He is still alive, but injured. I was not even trying, and I hit the thing. That is like the needle in a haystack saying. I couldn’t leave the stupid thing there. I had to kill it, cause I already had one pest revive itself and run, and that wasn’t happening again. So I ran him over a few more times. I am going to use Marvin the Mouse as an example to all of the other critters. I tied him to a string, and hung him from a fence post. He is on display, for all to see, No More Mr. Nice Guy it says underneath of him. I am kicking ass and taking names later. Look out critters. The Fertilizer Man is on the prowl.

Ok, the last part isn’t true. I didn’t hang him from a string. I wouldn’t get near a dead mouse with a ten-foot pole. So I did what all great Lawnwhisperer’s do, I took an eleven-foot pole, and flung him into my neighbors yard.

Lukatic

2006-07-23T17:09:00.000-04:00

It is pretty well chronicled here on DVD, and most that know him, know that Luke is a bit of a nut. He is not a nut in a really bad way, but in a mischievous, cute, little boy way. Ok, some times it is not so cute, but he is a little Steve Martin. He’s a wild and crazy guy. The kid is only 5 and he already has more nicknames than Shaquille O’neal. (NBA basketball player with multiple nicknames.) His latest nickname came from his swimming lessons instructor.

After his swim lesson the other day, the guy was giving my wife the run down on how the kids did. He went through Kyle’s lesson and where he stands, and then he said, “And Lukatic is getting better too.” He caught himself, and was a little embarrassed. Most parents would probably be upset at an instructor calling their kid a lunatic, but not us. My wife, took it and stride, and just told the guy, “I know what you mean, you don’t have to tell me.”

When she got home, she told me what the guy had said, and we both just started laughing. I have to admit that I was a little upset at the fact that his teacher called him Lukatic. I was not upset at the name, but by the fact that I didn’t think of it first. It is what it is; my son is a lunatic. Lukatic, it has a nice ring to it.

It's Either Me, or The Wicker

2006-07-19T17:58:00.000-04:00

The storm appeared out of nowhere. It was sunny and clear, and in what felt like 5 seconds, it looked ominous. The wind picked up, and lightning was striking from all directions. My wife called out to me that she thought that it looked like a tornado was coming. This freaked the kids out, and had us in a scramble. Now, I have never seen a tornado, but I have seen enough episodes of Storm Stories on The Weather Channel to know what one looks like. I will say, that it was pretty scary. This was one of those storms that have your kids totally beside themselves. They want you to hold them, and comfort them. They won’t let you leave their side. This is a very difficult task for a guy like me. How the hell am I supposed to hold and comfort Luke, while I am curled up in the fetal position, behind the sofa, and sucking my thumb?

The winds got up there in speed. Trees in the back yard were bending at 90-degree angles. The rain was just starting to fall. There were potted plants flying into the neighbors yard. I did not see any flying cows, but the wind was wicked. I was just getting everything situated, when I heard this, “Oh my god, my wicker table. You have to go get it. It will blow over and break, you can’t leave it out there.”

In my head, just before she said that, I was already writing my thank you note to the storm.

Dear Storm,

Thank you for breaking that wicker set that my wife bought. I am not a big fan of wicker, and because of your destruction, I am now able to go buy something more comfortable. I will be forever indebted to you…

Then Vick interrupted with her statement. I responded to her, almost in disbelief, “You want me to go out there in this, and move the wicker table into the garage?” She said yes. Now, it came down to me being struck by lightning, or the wicker table being broken, and she chose the safety of the wicker table. Where does that leave me in her order of important things in life? The only saving grace in this incident is that I realize now, that I may not be last. Cause after she yelled for me to go out there she said, “Kristin, you go help him.” So, my daughter and I braved the storm and moved that damn table inside.

We lost power for 12 hours. Our entire town was out for most of the next day. The company that I work for was out for the entire next day, and is still out at this very point. The boys seem to be ok, although they were pretty scared. The wicker table is resting comfortably in the garage. Kristin and I are ok for now. We both now know where we stand. I think she still ranks ahead of me on my wife’s list, but it was never so close before. I’m gaining ground. I may not be last for much longer. Thank you storm, for showing me the light.

The Vole Hunter starring Brad Pitt

2006-07-16T20:59:00.000-04:00

I was blowing off the walkway and driveway after doing some lawn whispering. All good Lawnwhisperers clean up after they are done. This adds to the beauty and precision of a finely groomed lawn. My leaf blower is a craftsman, and it claims to force the air at 200 miles per hour. I normally do not care how fast the thing blows, but this day was different; cause on this day, I came face to face with that little Vole that lives under my front porch.

I was just about finished my work on the front walkway, and something caught my attention in the garden bed. I took a quick look, and there he was. The Vole was standing about two feet from me, and was starting to scurry towards its home. I had little time to react. I did not have a shotgun, or a howitzer on me, I only had my leaf blower. With instincts that have only ever been matched by Clint Eastwood in one of those Outlaw Josey Wales films, I spun and pointed my blower at the little bastard. Vinny the Vole (I named all of the creatures living in my yard) tried to run, but the air forced him sideways. He was starting to make a run towards the porch, when I cranked up the air output. This 200-mile an hour leaf blower lived up to its billing, cause it knocked Vinny into the house. Vinny lay motionless. I got him.

At first, I was shocked. Then my shock turned to elation. I started singing, “Ding Dong the Vole is dead, the Vole is dead, the Vole is dead.” You know the song. Then I started thinking about the movie rights. This could be a screenplay. Written by me, of course, The Vole Hunter. Then I started thinking about who would play me in the movie. Brad Pitt was the first name that came to mind. It is a natural fit. He’s good looking, and I am good looking. Maybe I could get Harrison Ford to play the older me. After all, he is good looking and distinguished, and I am good looking. For a brief moment, I thought about Tom Cruise, but he gets into that Scientology shit, and I find that to be strange, so I went back to Brad.

As I was finalizing the ending to the movie, something moved. I turned to look, and there was Vinny, getting up. While I was in the middle of my daydream about the movie, I turned my blower off. I tried to get it started, but I was fumbling with the controls. Vinny looked me right in the eye. He stood there for a second, and then scurried to his hole. Here’s the worst part, I think he was laughing, and I believe he flipped me the bird as he dived into his home. Vinny lived, and my screenplay went to hell. I am going out this weekend to buy a bigger leaf blower. 200 miles an hour isn’t enough to kill Vinny the Vole. No, I need bigger.

Perverted Magic

2006-07-14T10:17:00.000-04:00

I don’t know if I can do this story justice. I do not know if I can put into words just how this transpired, and how funny it was at the time, but I am going to try.

Luke turned 5 yesterday. We knew that keeping him happy was going to be hard, because nobody was around to help celebrate his day. 3 of his 4 grandparents were out of town. Both of his godparents were out of town. His bestest buddy cousin, who is only one day older than him, was out of town. In other words, there was no party going on. Then to make matters worse, Mike and Cybil had their baby girl on the 13th. This news did not go over well with Luke, as he is the world’s worst sharer. When I told him that he had a new cousin Molly, and she was born on his day he said, “She is stupid. She is stupid, and when I see her, I am going to tell her she is stupid.” So already Luke doesn’t like Molly.

Back on Kyle’s birthday we threw him one of those little kid parties. One of my friends is a Magician, so he came and put on a show. He had the 13 kids totally mesmerized, and they loved it. One of his tricks had to do with underwear. I do not remember the details of the trick, I just remember that the kids laughed and laughed. Luke decided to reminisce about this trick during dinner last night. He told the 6 of us that were with him, as well as the rest of the crowded restaurant about the trick. He totally changed the trick, and let me tell you that this is not the way the trick went, but the rest of the restaurant may be calling child services on us right now.

“ So the magician has this rope of scarves. Then he rapped it up into a ball and said some magic words. When he let the scarves out, his underwear was attached to it. It was so funny. Then the magician pulled down his pants and he did not have any underwear on.”
At this point, Uncle Russ, and about 15 other people looked over at my wife and I. I jumped in and said, “Luke, the magician did not pull down his pants, stop making up stories.” Luke was having none of it. He continued with his version of the story. “Yes he did, he pulled down his pants and was not wearing any underwear. Then he started saying, It Is Alive. He was acting like when monsters come to life.”

Luke started walking around the table like Frankenstein. He was showing the people how the magician was supposedly walking around the party. Can you picture us hiring a magician for a 6-year old birthday party, and having him walking around the joint with no pants on, and saying, “It is Alive.” Most of the people in the place must have thought that we hired a perverted magician. I could not hold back the tears from the laughter. None of us could, so we left.

Perspective

2006-07-11T14:14:00.000-04:00

Most of you see this picture as two cute kids playing on a beautiful lawn.
A Lawnwhisperer sees this as a Beautiful lawn, with some cute kids playing on it

I am important, no really I am

2006-07-07T15:04:00.000-04:00

It’s a matter of trust. That’s pretty much it. There are only so many people in the world that you can trust with your kids. I have recently been called upon for this very purpose. I accepted this responsibility with pride and honor. My brother Mike and his wife Cybil are expecting. Actually, they are over expected. The due date is past, and they need someone on late night call. I am that someone. If she goes into labor in the middle of the night, I have to go to their house and take care of their 18-month-old son, Marcus.

I have planned out my route. It will take me exactly 13 minutes and 22 seconds to get from door to door. I have been working on this time all week, in an effort to improve on it. If I don’t do the typical left, right, left at each stop sign, I can shave a few seconds off. If I don’t stop at Wawa for coffee, I can save a minute. I am looking into having a fire pole installed from my bedroom to the driveway. This way I don’t have to take the time going through the house. I have hired a guy to help. His name is Paul. Paul will be outside waiting for my bedroom lights as a signal. I made up this code. If he sees one light in the window, that means the baby is coming by land. If he sees two lights, that means the baby is coming by sea. Then my buddy will ride his horse through the neighborhood screaming, The Baby is coming, the Baby is coming. This will clear the roads, and allow me to get there faster. See, with all of this thought, who would be a better pick than me?

The truth of the matter is, everyone was on the call list before me. Yeah, I made it by default. It seems that nobody else will be around but me. That is why I was chosen for this honor. My mom and dad are going to visit some clown in Florida, so they won’t be around. Jim, Dennis and Sharon are all going on a little vacation together. Kevin is also going to be visiting some clown in Florida. Bill, can’t do it, cause he is the clown in Florida. Dan will be at the shore. Pat is going on vacation. Apparently a couple of neighbors were asked before me, but they had to back down. I’m sure Mike contacted the local law enforcement to see if there was anybody available for community service this weekend. So, it came down to me. Apparently, I am the last one on Mike’s call list. Not only am I last on that list, but also I missed all the lists for family vacation week. My entire family is going on vacation together except for Mike and I. What the hell is that? Mike and Cybil are having a baby, so that is why they can’t go, but where is my invite?

Anyway, I have an important job to do this weekend. I must go and fill my car with gas. I am going to get the high test. That is a better performance gasoline, and may make my vehicle go faster. That should shave a few seconds off the commute.

Can I catch something, please.

2006-07-06T19:58:00.000-04:00

It is getting more ridiculous as every month passes. I can’t catch a break. Actually, I can’t catch a freaking thing. I got more wildlife living at my house than the Philadelphia Zoo. My latest pest is a vole. What is a vole, you may ask? I have no freaking idea, is my answer. I spoke to an exterminator, and he confirmed that I have voles living under my front porch. They don’t really do anything, except scare the heck out of me when I am turning the hose on. One ran right over my foot the other week, and if there were a chair in my garden, I would have been up on it. No, I didn’t take any action until my wife encountered a vole. Now I am forced to take measures to rid my front porch of the voles.

For those of you that are up to speed on my pest issues, yes, this is a typical women double standard. It is OK for a rabbit to dig a hole in my front yard, and breed like, well, a rabbit, but it is not OK to let the voles live in peace. Her reason is that voles are ugly little mouse like creatures, but rabbits are cute and cuddly little wild animals. Like all good husbands do, I decided to take action, about a week later. I probably have an entire colony of voles at this time, but the more there are, the more I get to kill. I have no problem killing these pesky little wildlife. My problem comes with having to pick up and throw out the wildlife. But at the rate I am going, this won’t happen, cause I can’t catch the little bastards.

I was told to put plain old mousetraps out. Put some peanut butter on the thing, set it, and snap, I will have them. So I did this. I checked the traps when I got home. The first trap I checked was not tripped, but something black was covering it. When I got down closer I saw what was covering the trap. It was all of the ants from the freaking neighborhood. There were more ants there than in a scene from A Bugs Life. I couldn’t do anything to that trap, cause it skeeved me out. It felt like the ants were crawling on me before I even tried to pick it up, so I left it there. I went around to check the other trap, and it was gone. The trap was missing. I searched the area, and it was not there. I eventually found it, in my back yard. I set that trap in my front garden, and found it in my back yard. The peanut butter was all gone, and the thing was tripped. The animals in the yard are fucking with me. There is a conspiracy going on, and I am getting a bit pissed. The animals are winning. Can I catch a break please, or at least a vole.

Christmas in July

2006-07-05T08:55:00.000-04:00

The smiles were precious. The fun, the excitement! The boys and me were dancing. The boys were singing joyous songs. The songs did not make any sense, but they were happy songs. Vic came home on July 1st, bearing gifts. It was Christmas in July, and I didn’t expect it. That’s right, she surprised us all. She went grocery shopping. After weeks of complaining from both the boys, and me she finally cracked.

Don’t get me wrong; we had some food in the house. But it was only healthy stuff. I got news for you; there is only so much healthy stuff a guy can take. This day, this was special, cause wherever it is she shopped, there was the buy one get one deal going. So now instead of one bag of chips, I got two. We got cookies too. Chocolate chip, with M&M’s. Two bags people. Count ‘em, two. She got the kids some popsicles and some ice cream. She got them multiple kinds of these frozen treats. Two of each. It looked like the frozen treat version of Noah’s Ark. The kids, they are in for some happy nights.

Occasionally I think I saw some carrots and stuff, but I paid no attention to them. I went right past them and went to the sausage links and pork roll. That stuff is so unhealthy, that I can taste it. Can I stress that we got two of each? Two! Anyway, it was a joyous day. Christmas in July. I have to go now; I want to go check on the fridge. I still can’t believe that it is full.

Kitchen Sink (end)

2006-06-29T08:25:00.000-04:00

Dan builds the new support post. Dan Builds the new support post. I’m sorry that I wrote that twice, but it seemed that Dan was constantly doing everything twice. He would get something finished, and be ready for the next step, but then find a small imperfection in the way it looked. We would rip it out, and do it again. Danny Two-Times he is called. So we are ready to take down the central support posts. The posts that have basically held our house together for the past 30-years are ready to come down.

Dan gets the first piece off, and then I believe Kev got the main post down. We all stood back and watched. The bedroom did not fall through. The new post appeared to be working. But there were still two more pieces of post to take out. Dan said that they were not the ones holding anything up, but they were simply helping support, the support.
So I jump in. I take the Saws All, and start cutting the bottom of the post. The first one comes down with no issues. I look up, and the managers are all having a discussion. I ask, “Should I take this last one out?” Dan gives me the go-ahead. I start in on the base of the last post. I am on my knees, with a saw, cutting potentially the only thing holding the upstairs up. I am sweating like a pig, and I am sore as hell. I have to stop mid cut, just to wipe some sweat off my brow. As I kneel up, I notice that the rest of the team is not standing there. I look around, and I see Dan and Kevin in the living room. Jim was back in the family room. Dennis went to the basement. So they got me in the middle of the kitchen, on my knees, cutting the last post. Those bastards are all off in the safety zones. Well, I cut that board, and to date, the house is still standing.

We are into Sunday now, and we finally have most of the prep work done. We had to put the cement board down on top of the plywood. Let me tell you something, that shit sucks. We had to drill 50 screws into each board. 50 screws had to go into each cement board. You know how hard it is to screw through cement? I’ll tell you how hard it is. It is so hard, that I was the only Bitch doing it. Sure, they all would drive a screw or two in, but for the most part it was me. Apparently it takes 4 guys to prep and mortar an area first, then you throw the board on, and the idiot screw-guy goes to town. Mike was helping screw the boards down, but he was in charge of cleanup. Yes, he was also a manager. He was the CUS. The cleanup Supervisor. He spent the weekend leaning on a broom. He would wait for some one to cut a piece of wood, and then jump all over that dust.

It is tile time. It is Sunday at 2:00, and we are just starting to tile. We started Friday at 5:00, and are just getting to the tile at 2:00 on Sunday. Dan stripes his lines, for level and 90 degree. He gets the quick set mortar stuff ready. We have a system ready. Some of us are bringing the tiles, some are laying the tiles, and Dan is the mortar guy. We get rolling. After a couple of tiles are in, I ask Dan a question. He replied to my question as follows. “How the hell would I know? I never did this before.” I looked at him a little funny and said, “What do you mean you never did this before. I thought that you knew this stuff. We’re counting on you to finish this thing up.” He told me to check the book. I said “What book?” “In my toolbox, there is a book”

For two solid days, I worked. 13 hours a day it was. My knees and arms and back are still sore. I listened to Dan at every turn. I was DB 1, and turned out to be the only DB. We all looked to Dan for guidance. Every word he said, hung in the air, and we responded. Dan was the leader, and I a mere follower. I accepted this, and moved on, and now I find out he was reading a fucking book. There it was, in his toolbox. ‘Tiling 1-2-3.’ Our Project Leader had never done a tile floor before. He was using a freaking ‘how to’ book. What the hell is that? What a weekend.

The floor is mostly finished. Dan has to go do the finishing touches. I will be recovering for days. I have blisters, and cuts, and tendonitis, and hammer shoulder, and all kinds of stuff. I also went out to the bookstore and got a book. It is a self-help book. It is called “How to say NO to family.”

Kitchen Sink Part 2

2006-06-28T09:24:00.000-04:00

I was not on the schedule for Friday night. Pat was going over with Dan and Jim to prep the room. They had to remove all of the appliances out of the Kitchen. The parents left to go check into a hotel for the weekend. Somewhere between the stove and the fridge things got out of hand. We were supposed to be taking up the top layer of the old floor, and fixing any damages. Then we were going to throw some tile right on top, and bam, we would be done. In the excitement of the moment, Pat apparently got promoted to the Manager of Demolition. This is a good personnel choice as far as I could see. If you need a Demolition Man, Pat is definitely it. This was a bad choice as far as ease of project. So Patrick MD went to work.

I reported for duty at my scheduled start time. I was all happy go lucky and chipper for 7 in the morning. I had my coffee and was ready to work. As I approached the front door, I heard saws and hammers. I thought to myself, “Oh good, they are ahead of schedule. We may be done by 5 today. These guys are good. I may not even have to do anything.”
I open the door and mosey over to the kitchen. I believe I was even whistling a little happy tune. I made the bend into the kitchen, and my jaw hit the basement floor. It hit the basement floor because the kitchen floor was gone. That’s right, my jaw dropped right through the rafters that the guys were standing on, and hit the basement floor.

“What happened?” I asked, almost crying. PL Dan started going through some bullshit about having to go to the bare joists and re-do the old floorboards. He was using terms like sister joists, and nailers. He said something about how fast we could throw down new plywood and get right to the Hardy Backer Boards. This is a piece of cake. It had to be done. We had no choice. He was still going on about teams of two, and how easy this all was when I first knew I was in way over my head. “Dan, what the hell happened, and who the f is Hardy Backer?

I took a minute to collect my thoughts. I kept them all to myself because they were all mean thoughts. Then I got my staff issued work belt. I got myself together and jumped in. I was just getting into my work as PO Jim told me about SP Kevin’s idea. You remember Kevin. He was enlisted as a DB, but got promoted because of his Idea. “ We’re going to move the support post from the middle of the kitchen, and get it against that wall over there.” I was a bit stunned and confused. “What the hell are we doing that for?” Mr. Special projects chimed in, “It will make the room bigger. It will really open it up.” Now, I understand the concept here, but there are only two people living in the house. How big of a fucking kitchen do they need?

I got back to work, and was thinking about who I would push into the basement first, PL, PO, or SP. Everyone involved in the project has an important title at this point except me. I’m the only bitch there, until Dennis shows up. His bitch stint lasted about 5 minutes. He got promoted to Electrician. We would not have needed one except for the idea mans grand plan of moving the support beams. Now Dennis is the certified Electrician. So all of these important people are off doing their important stuff, and I am hammering in floorboards. Working like a dog, I was. Bending nails, and hitting thumbs. As I’m working I’m thinking to myself, “I thought the damn floor looked fine the way it was. Who’s brilliant idea was this anyway?”

Everthing But The Kitchen Sink (part one)

2006-06-27T08:55:00.000-04:00

For those that don’t know, I am 1 of 9 siblings. There are eight boys (Idiots) and one girl. The 9 of us are separated by only 10 years. We are all very close. Occasionally we do silly things. This is one of those occasions.

I alluded to this in yesterday’s column. (I know it is a blog, but my brother Kevin refers to it as my column. This makes me feel important, so I am sticking with column.) One of the Idiots put out an all points bulletin for help on the weekend of the 24th. The job was mom and dads kitchen floor. This APB was a request for all hands on deck. It was made clear that Dan was going to be Project Leader. Dan is a good choice. Dan is a handy dude. Dan knows his stuff, and he does all of his projects well. Dan is also a bit of a perfectionist.

Jim was the one that sent out the APB. Jim is the baby of the family, and lives right around the corner from the parents. So somewhere along the line Idiot Jim gets to talking to Idiot Dan about re-doing the floor. Idiot Dan gets to liking the idea and joins in. Once Jim has Dan on board, he knows all of us other Idiots will be in, cause we know, that Dan knows what he’s doing. Jim is not the Project Leader, but he is the Project Organizer. So he gets the people on board. He gets his buddies truck. He gets all of the material. His function is basically to make sure that Dan has what he needs, and is happy while working. So we have the P.L. in Dan, and The P.O. in Jim. Jim and Dan are the ones running the gig.

When I got the call from Jim it is put to me that it would be pretty simple. I explained to Jim that when it comes to power tools, I am not very good. Power tools and I do not have a good working relationship. I don’t know how to work them, and they don’t work when I use them. He lets me know that I am just going there to be a grunt. I am just one of Dan’s Bitches. “LW, you are going to hammer some nails, and screw some screws. That’s it.” This sounds good to me, cause after all, who doesn’t like to get hammered and screw. Then he says, “You can be a runner. If Dan needs something, you go get it. When he needs a beer, you get him a beer.” This also sounds easy. This also means that every time Dan needs a beer, I can get myself a beer. So I get to drink beer, get hammered and screw. “I’m in Dimmy.” I say. So I enter the weekend as DB 1. Dan’s Bitch 1.

Kevin should have been DB 2. Somewhere along the line he changed his function. He was one of Dan’s Bitches, but he was one with an idea. Yeah, he got promoted, mid project. Idiot Kevin was the one that turned this into 13-hour days. He thought we should move some things…. like support beams. So he got moved from DB 2, and promoted to Manager in Charge of Special Projects. He was now the S.P. Kevin took this title seriously; cause every time I turned around he was off doing a special project.

Idiot Dennis was there. Idiot Mike was there. Idiot Pat was there. Naturally these guys were DB’s 3 through 5. Idiot Bill was there in spirit. He was DB 6. It is actually hard to refer to Bill as an idiot in this case, cause he is the only one smart enough to be 1500 miles away. So the crew is set. We are ready to roll. The project kicks off. Operation Kitchen Floor started on Friday night, the 23rd.

Collars

2006-06-26T10:39:00.000-04:00

I had a rough weekend. I was doing things that I am not qualified to do, and my ineptness showed. One of my idiot brothers decided that we should all get together and re-do my parents kitchen floor. Then in the middle of the project another one of my idiot brothers thought we should redesign the entire kitchen. So I spent the weekend as an idiot amongst idiots. Dan was the only one that knew what he was doing, and trust me; he let us know it every five minutes. We laughed a lot, and we cursed a lot, so actually I rate the weekend as above average. Anytime you can laugh and curse without your parents being in earshot, it’s a fun time. All of the 8 boys chipped in on this project except for William. He used some lame excuse about living in Florida and that he is 1500 miles away. That’s crap. This is not what my story is about. My story is about collars.

I wear collared shirts to work. Golf shirts. I don’t know if it is the way they hang in the closet, or the way they are washed, but my collars get all messed up. They are not even. The right side is half up and the left is half down. They never seem to match up. So I woke up after a painful weekend of being abused, and was kind of cranky. I got dressed, and put on one of those crooked collared shirts. I was brushing my hair when I noticed the messed up shirt and I had a bit of a meltdown. I started bitching and moaning about how my shirts are always messed up. Yes, I blamed my wife. In the middle of my hissy fit, I woke up the boys. They came to see what the commotion was all about.

Vic was just taking my silly tirade in stride. She was antagonizing me, but letting me vent at the same time. Somewhere along the line I mentioned the possibility of ironing my shirts. She chuckled, and said, “Iron? I don’t iron. Iron them yourself.” I knew that was coming so I slammed a few more doors and acted like an idiot, then I went off to work. As I was leaving I could hear Luke saying something. He was whispering to Vic. After I was at work for an hour or so, I felt a little bad. I had my coffee already and realized that I had acted a bit like a baby. I called to apologize. Vic said that it was a good thing that I called because Luke said that I should apologize. What Luke was whispering to her was this. “Mommy, dad should apologize to you. You don’t need an iron. You always do my shirts perfectly.”

Is he a kiss ass, or what?

Chafing

2006-06-23T11:41:00.000-04:00

First let me say that I will be retiring every other Wednesday from now on. The attention is awesome, so I think that a bi-weekly retirement post is in order. If the ratings drop again, I will have to go to a weekly retirement schedule. William seems to think that I have set out on a shameless ploy to attract readers. This was not the intent when I was first canceling the program, but it worked, so I will run with it.

Now to my story: I golfed last night. Thursdays is league night at work. So I went out with all of my buddies from work, and got beat up pretty good on the course. I do not concern myself with winning or losing; I just go for the friendship and camaraderie. I find it fascinating what is talked about on the golf course between men. Most of all, we are all out there talking about how much we love our wives and stuff, but occasionally the topic changes to something different. Last night got a bit strange.

It was 90 something and humid where we are, so it was a bit uncomfortable out there. So as we made the turn, and got to the 10th fairway, I noticed I was developing a bit of chafing. Now, chafing is not something that I usually talk about, but it was hard to ignore my cowboy walk after the 11th hole. One of the guys asked if I was all right, thinking I may have hurt myself. I did not know how to answer other than be honest. So I said, “ I’m fine, just having a bit of a chafing issue here.” They laughed at me, but they all had that look of sorrow for me. They have all been there. They threw out all of the terminology that we men use for chafing in the private areas. “ Oh, you got a bit of Crotch Rot going huh.” Said one guy. “ Nothing worse than Monkey Butt on the golf course.” Another mused. One guy referred to it simply as The Rot.

The conversation then led to such things as grooming and care to avoid The Rot. We went through the theories of Boxers or Briefs, and how they relate to The Rot. See, I was wearing briefs, as I prefer the support that they give the family jewels. The other three guys were wearing boxers. They say that they are a better preventative of The Rot. I find that boxers leave my guys to exposed to freedom, and feel it is no better than going commando. Anyway, all along I am developing third degree chafing, and my buddies are rubbing it in. With friends like these… you know the rest. So I lost to all three of the guys in golf, plus got some chafing issues to deal with. I am past the worst parts of the chafing, and am not walking like I just got off of a horse anymore, but I will not be fully healed for another day. Hopefully next week, one of them has an issue. Maybe one of them will have briefs on, and develop chafing. Then I can laugh at their expense. I need to go now; I have to hit the store. I need some diaper rash ointment.

Back, By Popular Demand

2006-06-22T12:24:00.000-04:00

It makes me smile to see the outpouring of affection that came from my retirement. Fans, from all over the place, are asking me to stick around. People that I did not even know are reading me are asking me to stay. The reason that it makes me smile is because it makes William cringe. He is jealous of the response that I got from being cancelled, and that made my day. So, for that, and that alone, I have decided to come out of retirement. I have been retired for 23 hours now, but the people have spoken. I have always been a blogger of the people, and for the people.

Birds

I was cleaning out the garage the other day. I have a Two-Stuff Garage. I had to take all of the stuff out of the garage, and then put it all back in. This process happens 4 to 5 times a year. It is a painful task, as most of you know. My kids were helping me. Now, kids like to help, but they are 3-minute helpers. After 3 minutes of a task, they are off playing with something that they are not supposed to. So they really didn’t hold up their end of the garage clean up. I was working alone. I’m like that anyway. I’m a lone wolf task doer. I’m a Maverick if you will. When I’m cleaning the garage, I don’t need a Goose in the back seat telling me where the bogies are. “Big pile of dust on the floor to the left Mav. Tools out of place at 3 o-clock Maverick.” See, that stuff doesn’t work for me. My wife likes to tell that kind of stuff, and it does not make for pleasant chores. So I work alone.

The kids are off hitting each other with hammers and crowbars, and I am trying to concentrate. Then, suddenly like a bullet, a bird buzzes the tower. A bird flew into the garage doing mach 3 and almost hits me in the head. He starts freaking out. He got in the garage, but could not figure out how to get out of the garage. He is flapping his wings and bumping his head on the ceiling. Every once in a while, he would nose dive right for me. This bird was pissed. I grabbed the snow shovel from the wall and started defending myself. I would take a swipe and then duck. With every move, the darn bird would drop a bomb. He was shitting all over my garage. I would take another swipe, and he would do this dive and turn move to avoid the shovel, and then beeline at my head. My boys start yelling at me. “Don’t hurt the bird dad. Be nice to the bird.”

Luke was especially upset. He has this whole ‘God’s Creatures’ thing that he says. Don’t hurt the bird dad; it’s one of God’s Creatures. Don’t step on the bug dad; it’s one of God’s creatures. My Mother-in-Law taught him this. This ‘God’s Creature’ mentality is the same thing that has me running a rabbit farm in the front lawn. So I already have an issue with the ‘God’s Creature’ mentality. So I did what every great father would do. I said, “Luke, enough of this God’s creature crap, the damn bird is shitting all over the garage, and I’m going to kill it. If you can’t handle watching me kill one of god’s creatures, go out back.” Luke started grabbing for the shovel. He started hitting me in the legs. Luke was defending the bird. It came down to me against a freaking bird, and Luke chose the bird. So here I am being attacked by a bird from above, and then Luke launches a ground assault at my legs. I start calling for back up. “Kyle, help me out here. Come get Luke off of me, so that I can kill this bird.” Kyle, being the smart one in the family says, “Dad, I ain’t coming in there, that bird is pooping all over everything.” So, I retreated. I left the bird in the garage for the better part of the afternoon. The dumb bird eventually found his way out. Then I spent the better part of the evening cleaning up bird shit from the garage. God’s Creatures suck.

Cancelled

2006-06-21T12:18:00.000-04:00

The ratings are down. Way down. The readership has gone to other places. The powers that be have decided that the time is up for D.V.D. The Lawnwhisperer has a strange following. The people in charge of the demographics can’t put their finger on exactly where The Lawnwhisperer fits. It appears that the show will be cancelled. They are comparing him with the one season stint that Dennis Miller did on Monday Night Football. He is a funny guy, but wasn’t right for football. LW is not right for blogging. He is a funny guy, and has a fucking tremendous lawn, but he does not fit with the Blogosphere. So, to his 5 readers, thank you and good night. It was a bit of fun while it lasted. Dad vs. Dad is over. Maybe we’ll catch you in re-runs. Maybe it will be picked up in syndication.

Wicker

2006-06-12T09:49:00.000-04:00

It was raining pretty good. It was just after a 40-minute rain delay. I’m standing in the rough, with about 170 yards between the green and me. The rough is soaked, my grips are wet, and I have to carry a portion of the lake, and two bunkers. These are daunting circumstances for a pathetic golfer such as myself. These alone are tough to overcome. Just as I am getting into my pre-shot routine, my phone rings. It is my wife. She may as well have just come over to the course, picked up my ball, and threw it into the water. She would have saved me the embarrassment.

“Oh John, you should see this patio set I am looking at. It is awesome. Can you come over here when you are done and see if you like it?”

I reply, “Is it wicker, and does it need cushions? Cause if that is the case, then I don’t like it.”

“How do you know if you like it unless you see it?” She says.

“Cause I don’t like wicker, and I don’t like cushions.”

Anyway, I hang up the phone. I am a bit confused as to why she felt the need to call me then, for that. Needless to say, I hit the ball into the water. She messed me up. Yes, I blame her for that shot.

I like the look of wicker; I don’t like the comfort of wicker. I like a nice cushioned seat; I don’t like having to monitor the weather for leaving them outside. I am a simple man really. On the way home from golf, she calls me again. I tell her to just buy the freaking wicker set, cause I know she wants it. I also know that no matter what I say, we are getting the wicker set. She begs me to meet her there, so that I can look at everything, and we can pick it out together. To all the men out there, does she really care about my opinion? The answer is no, but I meet her there and we spend an hour looking at patio sets. We looked at green ones, yellow ones, white ones and black ones. We saw wicker ones, steel ones plastic ones and mesh ones. It was a brutal time. All the while, I know damn well that we are buying the green wicker one. She cost me a stroke when she first called. We bought the wicker one. It is on my patio. Why did I have to go to the store? Every time I sit in the green wicker seat, I will remember that shot that went into the water. Why does she mess with my golf game like that?

LUKIFER

2006-06-06T08:39:00.000-04:00

I understand the significance of the whole”6-6-6” thing. I know that supposedly; back in the day, someone branded people with the 6-6-6, and they were bad people. The Devil, Satan, Lucifer; whatever it is you call him, chose his souls, and they became his bad henchmen. They go out, and do bad stuff on behalf of Satan. Well, I am writing today to tell you, Don’t Believe the Hype.

I am not saying to not believe in the devil. I am not telling you that this type of stuff is not real. It is real, but the numerical significance is incorrect. Yeah, the number that is significant is 07-13-01. That’s right, 07-13-01, the day Luke was born. Lukifer, if you will. He has all the makings of a Devil.

Last night, while under my watch, Luke went off to the bathroom. Kyle and I were hanging out, watching television. After a while I realized that Luke had not returned yet. So I went to the bathroom door, and asked him if everything was ok. He said he was fine, and could he get a little privacy. I totally understand his request for privacy, so I leave him alone again. After another few minutes, I see that he has not returned yet, so I go back. “Luke, are you done in there yet?” His reply made me nervous, “Ummmmmm, no. I am still going. Ummmm, can’t I just get a minute to myself? Ummmm, leave me alone dad.” While he is talking to me I can hear all kinds of commotion going on. I tried to open the door, but he has it locked. I decided, that I had to break in.

I got a wire hanger from the closet, and bent the edge. Wire hangers act as keys to our interior doors, cause we lost all of the keys to our interior doors. So I start Macgyvering the door open. Lukifer is on the other side of the door, holding it closed. I manage to get inside, and there is Luke, naked, with shaving cream all over him. There is shaving cream all over the walls. There is shaving cream all over the floor. There is shaving cream all over everything. Not only is there shaving cream everywhere, but he tried to clean it up. He was using toilet paper to clean it up. For those of you who do not know the effects of mixing shaving cream and toilet paper, it is not a fun combination. “Luke, what the heck are you doing? Why is there shaving cream all over the place? Get your butt in that shower right now. Don’t touch another thing, and get in that shower. Why, why are you in here playing with shaving cream?” Then came his reply, “I didn’t do it dad. It just started coming out. I was going to the bathroom, and the blue stuff just started spraying out.” I asked, “You expect me to believe that the shaving cream was spraying itself? You did not touch it, but it sprayed all over the bathroom.”

“Yeah, that’s weird, isn’t it dad?” He looked up at me, with those cute little blue eyes, and said, “I didn’t make the mess dad, I was just cleaning it up.”

Water Conservation

2006-06-02T09:38:00.000-04:00

I got home from work yesterday, and set the sprinkler up on the lawn. It is part of my daily routine. I water certain sections each night as needed. When we get enough rain, I don’t do it, but in the dry times I water my lawn. I hear voices in my head that tell me to do so. I hear a soft whispering voice, “If you water, it will grow.” I happen to listen to the voices in my head. Sometimes the voices get me in trouble, like when they say, “Go golfing, but tell your wife you are working.” I try to tune out the voices on those days, but they are strong. My wife doesn’t buy into the “voices made me do it” theory, but I still use the excuse. Anyway, yesterday Mrs. Whisperer met me on the lawn when I was setting up my water.

She came out and said, “You can’t water the lawn. We got our water bill today, and there is a note about a drought warning. It says to lower your water use by 5 percent.” I did not believe her, so I made her show me the bill. It did in fact say to help conserve, and cut back. I did not need the letter to tell me that we are in a drought; after all I am the Lawnwhisperer. My Lawn tells me when we are in a drought. If we weren’t in a drought, I wouldn’t have to water the lawn. You see I am smart that way. So, my wife wants me to stop watering the lawn as our water conservation.

This poses a huge problem. If I stop watering the lawn, the lawn will not grow. If the lawn will not grow, I will not be able to cut it. If I am not able to cut it, I will be lost. It is my passion, the lawn. I need to whisper to my lawn. Therefore, I will continue to water it through the drought. I told my wife that I would send the water company a letter and explain that we have been conserving water for a long time. I told her this, “Come on, we don’t run the washing machine very often. That is conserving water. The dishwasher isn’t exactly running wild. I mean, you don’t have dishes when there is minimal cooking going on.” As I was telling her this, I could see that she was getting a bit annoyed at me. She looked like she was getting mad. So I stopped and said, “Honey, that is not me talking, that’s the voices in my head. They told me to say that stuff.”

See, the damn voices got me in trouble again. As she walked in the house, I heard them say, “If you water, it will grow.” So I left the sprinkler on.

Gentleman Jack

2006-05-30T08:13:00.000-04:00

I just finished painting the basement. It is not a professional job, but it was cheap. We have a bar in the basement, and it is decorated with bar stuff. Most of the stuff is Jack Daniels stuff. We have a connection, so we have a ton of Jack stuff. We have mirrors, pictures, glasses, and all kinds of stuff. I put all of this back on the wall after I was finished painting. This led to a funny conversation with Kyle.

“Jack Daniels”, he read slowly. “Jack Daniels. Dad, who is Jack Daniels, and why is our whole basement decorated with him?”

“Well, buddy, he’s just some dude that made whiskey.”

“Whiskey, what is whiskey?”

“Well, whiskey is alcohol, it’s a drink.”

“Ohhh, so you drink it. You drink it, just like you drink water?”

“Well, no. Uncle Bill drinks it like it’s water, but most people drink it slow, they sip it.”

“So you are just supposed to sip it. Why does uncle Bill drink it so fast?”

“ I don’t know, you would have to ask him that.”

“Maybe he’s just thirsty. That’s why he drinks it so fast.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it Kyle, he’s just thirsty.”

New Socks

2006-05-25T10:47:00.000-04:00

I got new socks yesterday. You know what that means? It means that the whites have not been done, so instead of doing the laundry, my wife bought me new socks. All I did is made mention of the fact that my sock drawer was empty. I politely mentioned the possibility of maybe some wash getting done. Instead she went to the store and bought me new ones.

Do you think if I politely mention that my golf clubs are dirty, and need a cleaning, that she will buy me new ones?

Sibling Rivalry

2006-05-18T09:56:00.000-04:00

Sibling rivalry is a fact of life. You cannot stop it; you can only hope to contain it. To this day, my brothers and I still compete. Well, they all compete for second place. I don’t need to compete, cause I am far better than all of them at anything we do. So I usually come in first, and they all know that, so it is tough on them. Anyway, I didn’t know how young it actually began until last night. We had another soccer game last night, and my team did not have enough players, so I called Luke up from the minors. Luke plays in the 4 and 5-year old league, I coach Kyle in the 6 and 7-year olds.

Kyle was not at all pleased to see Luke don the great Maroon jersey. Actually he was pissed. I could see it in his eyes. So there I am, the great soccer coach, coaching both of my boys. Luke came onto the field with a smile a mile wide. Kyle came onto the field with a scowl of evil. It was a proud father moment. I started Luke as the Goalie to get him acclimated to the situation. He was fired up. He was playing with the big boys. He was hopping up and down, and ready. The first shot that came his way he saved it. The next shot that came his way went right on passed him. He hardly moved. So I went back and patted him on the head and told him to keep his chin up. Kyle went back and said, “Great Luke, because of you, we are losing 1 to nothing.” So I scolded Kyle a little bit, and did what all great dads would do. I put Kyle in net for the second period.

Kyle plays a mean net, but he too gave up a goal. I’m pretty sure I saw Luke smile at that, but he didn’t say anything. Later in the game both of my boys were playing offense. They were doing pretty well. They both had some solid plays, and Luke was holding his own with the big boys. Then it happened. I witnessed sibling rivalry at its best. Luke had a break away. He got out in front of everybody. He was motoring down the field, with Kyle trailing the play. The red teams goalie was all that was between Luke and the net. I was hollering for Luke to go, and yelling for Kyle to trail the play, and play the rebound. It was set up perfect. My two boys were out alone, and one of them was going to score.

I started to picture the celebration in my head. One would score the goal, and the two of them would High-Five each other, and do the airplane out to mid-field. It was setting up perfect. The crowd was so excited and my boys were leading the way. Then I witnessed Kyle make the best defensive play of his career. He put on a burst of speed, and caught Luke from behind. He stepped in front of Luke a booted the ball out of bounds. It was not even near the net. Kyle cleared the zone. He saved the goalie from having to make a play. Kyle stole the ball from Luke, and instead of shooting, he cleared it.

The crowd went silent, and the boys walked back. Luke was pissed, and Kyle was smirking. There I realized; there was no way, no way in hell that Kyle was going to let Luke score while playing on his team. It was another proud father moment.

Noah

2006-05-17T12:26:00.000-04:00

I may be jumping the gun. It may be a little early, but I think I will start building an Ark. The good Lord has not spoken to me yet, but I think it is coming. I am pretty sure that the Lord is playing with me. He or she is messing with me, and my dislike for animals. There must be some joke going on up in the heavens. “Hey Peter, what do you say we drop another lawn destroying pest on the Lawnwhisperer’s lawn.” “Oh God, you are funny, I get a kick out of seeing him pissed.”

I have already documented my rabbit situation. They are one big happy family living in my front yard. I have a groundhog living behind my shed. He is a little bastard. He’s digging holes and tearing up the shrubs. He is a bold, and brazen son of a gun too. He’ll come strolling right out in the middle of the lawn and start eating. He’ll get up on his fat little hind legs and stare right at me. I know he’s laughing at me. I know he is just trying to piss me off. I did the humane thing; I trapped it, and took it to some far off woods. I let him go in the woods, and he is back. Now I will have to kill it. My wife won’t let me, but I will get it when nobody is looking.

I have mole holes along the neighbor’s fence. They are digging their stupid little tunnels along the fence line. I saw one while cutting the grass the other day. I tried to run it over, but he ducked into one of his holes. I’ll get the little menace. Last fall there was a wild turkey in my yard. A freaking turkey. The thing was huge. It scared the boys, and you know what? It scared me too. I constantly have deer in my yard eating my trees. I don’t live in the forest, I live in a development, but I have all of these creatures strolling through my yard. Birds, oh lord you should see how many birds hang out on my house. They hang out on my house, then they fly to the tree line. Then they go from the tree line, back to the house. With every pass, they drop shit on my walkway and cars, and driveway. I need a B-B Gun.

Not too long ago we were woken by a loud hooting sound. 2 in the morning and I thought somebody’s alarm was going off. My wife and I went outside, and there was a monster owl sitting on my neighbor’s roof. The owl would not shut the hell up. It sounded like it was in my living room. Why is all of this wildlife hanging around my house? My house is a zoo without the animals; I don’t need them hanging around. So now I am thinking that I may be the next Noah. That is the only explanation that I can think of. They want me to build an ark. The animals are starting to congregate at my house. I can’t wait till the Hippo’s show up. What the hell will they do to my yard?

My Mom is______

2006-05-15T11:35:00.000-04:00

Luke must not be too bright. I thought he was moving along nicely as far as his intelligence goes, but he seems to have hit a small bump in the road. I thought he was doing fine in school. His teachers think he is ready to move on, and that he will be a fine student. I have my doubts. I did not have my doubts until he brought home his Mother’s Day card. After reading this 4-year-olds card, I know he has to be held back.

The card was one of those fill in the blank cards. The teachers had 4 statements typed out, and the kids had to fill in the blanks.

My favorite thing to do with my mom is ___________.

Luke’s answer was, go to the zoo. This is a fine answer, as my wife does take them to the zoo a lot. So that was a cute, good answer.

My mom has ________ hair.

Luke says blonde. Now, this is true to a certain degree. I will not take points off for this answer, as she has it highlighted blonde. But I can’t expect a 4-year-old to understand such nonsense.

My mom is ______ years old.

Luke’s answer was 30. Now, my wife looks like she is in her late 20’s, but she is not. Luke may be looking for some extra attention, so he went low in order to score points, or he has no concept of age. Then with the last statement, I realized that Luke needs more schooling.

My mom is the best _________ in the whole world.

Luke says Cleaner. Luke thinks his mother is the best cleaner in the entire world. I don’t know what he sees, and I don’t know what he is thinking, but I have an issue with this answer. I am not saying that my wife is a bad cleaner, I am just saying that she is not the Best cleaner. See, I believe that in order to be the best at something, you actually have to do it. Again, this is not a shot at my wife. We do not live in a dirty house, but we do not clean it to the merits of best in the world. I believe that my wife has cleaning on her agenda, but it is listed somewhere near cooking, and laundry. Those two things are way down the priority list. Luke seems to think that she is the best in the world at this. This worries me. Luke has poor observation skills. My wife definitely ranks as one of the best mothers in the world, but cleaners? No Luke, you got that wrong. That is 2 out of 4 on the test. That is 50%. 50% is an F. I think we have to hold him back.

Reflection

2006-05-11T11:49:00.000-04:00

It’s a sad day when you finally come to the realization that you are indeed afraid of your own reflection. I am afraid of many things, but most of them are normal fears, but this, this takes the cake. I am sitting here right now feeling bad for my kids because they don’t stand a chance in this world. They will grow up to be chickens, just like their old man. I saw myself in the mirror last night, and it scared me. For all of you funny people out there that are going to say, “I would be scared to if I looked like that,” I don’t mean I was scared by my looks. See, I know that I am a good-looking dude. Chicks dig me, and they always have. What I mean is, that my reflection startled me, and I was ready to beat it up.

I was lying in bed, falling asleep while watching Sports Center. I was pretty out of it, and decided it was time to shut the TV off and go to sleep. I turned the TV off, and got up to go to the bathroom. I have a strategically placed night-light on the wall in the bathroom. It is right under the medicine cabinet, which has a mirror for a door. The door of the cabinet was partially open. It is not normally this way, so this is where the temporary confusion set in. That mirror door opens into the big mirror on the wall. So I entered, while half asleep, and caught my own reflection in the mirror of the cabinet, which in turn spun that reflection into the big mirror. For one brief moment my heart stopped, and I thought there was an intruder in the house. Not one intruder, but two. I caught my own reflection off of two mirrors, in the dim lighting from the night-light, and it startled me.

I will have you know, that I would have kicked both of my ass’ to protect my family. I would have put a major beat down on both of those fine looking intruders, if they were real. I was poised and ready to smack the hell out of both of me. I go to the gym. I work out. I could have taken both of those me’s. Anyway, I went to the bathroom, and then back to bed. I was still a little confused, so I pulled the covers up to my nose, and stared at the ceiling for a bit. I eventually fell off to sleep. Thank god it is cloudy today, cause I would hate to run into my shadow.

The Blow Test

2006-05-09T15:45:00.000-04:00

My expensive, I mean excellent, daughter had a Dr. appointment yesterday. I went with my wife and daughter to this appointment, as the issue is relatively serious, but getting much better. We had to go to the Pulmonologist. The Lung Dr. if you will.

We had to wait in the waiting room for far to long, but that is an issue that is often discussed on Poop and Boogies, so I will stay away from it. Finally we get called to the back. We get put into the Dr’s office to wait again. While waiting here, something very funny happened. We were right next to the Blow Test cubicle. I am not sure of the exact terminology, but that is what is performed in this particular area, a blow test. I am sitting in an office with my wife, and my 22-year-old expensive, I mean, excellent daughter. All is quiet in the room, until we hear this; “OK, Mrs. Smith, sit right here, and we are going to do a blow test for the doctor.” I chuckle at the sound of this, and elbow my wife with that, are you listening to this head nod. She also chuckles, but tries to ignore what is being said.

Next thing we hear is this, “I want you to start off slow, and then blow harder as I tell you.” At this point, I am already starting to get the body shakes from holding in my laughter. Then comes the grand finally, “Slow, slow, ok faster, faster, faster. Great job, keep going, oh Mrs. Smith, you are doing great, harder, harder, harder. Mrs. Smith that was wonderful, great job on the blow test.” The nurse’s voice was rising with each word, and it was quite comical. So, just as I am regaining my composure, Mrs. Smith says, “Wow, it gets harder, the longer you have to blow.” That is where I lost it.

Are we There Yet?

2006-05-08T11:20:00.000-04:00

They are losing interest. They are losing their desire. They are losing their spunk and energy. They are slowly deteriorating. They, my 6-year-old soccer team, are quitting on me. They are 5 games into an eight game season, and they are ready for it to be over. They have lasted longer than me. I was ready for it to be over after game 3. They are strong boys, stronger than me, but their patience is gone.

This week was a gem. We lost 5 to 1. I am not concerned with the winning and losing, but I do believe that the kids should know what the deal is. Some of the coaches and parents in this league want to say that every game is a tie. I don’t go for that. I teach my kids to know the score. So my kids are big at announcing it at every goal. They are not quiet about it either. “Coach John, Coach John, now it is three to nothing!” 30 seconds later one is yelling, “Here we go again, coach John, it is 4 to nothing.” This week I had three different kids skip the score all together and go right to this, “Coach John, I think we should just go home.” It is hard to argue with smart kids. They had a point, and I had nothing to say in response.

Midway through the third quarter, 4 of my eight kids were sitting on the ground. That is half of my team, sitting in the middle of the field. I was getting frustrated, and I picked up the ball, and yelled out, “Hey maroon team, do you guys just want to go home?” Nobody answered me, but I could see it in their faces. Yes, they wanted to go home, and you know what, so did I. I am yelling and screaming words of encouragement all game long, and I don’t believe that anyone hears them, but of course the entire township seemed to fall silent just as I was yelling this. I got some funny looks. Some of the parents looked at me strange. It was just a question, asked loudly. Some of my kids stood up and finished the game. Some continued to pick the clovers. Three more games, just three more, then it’s over. I can see the light. It is near. Then we can go home.

Bad Day

2006-05-02T16:38:00.000-04:00

The color is called True Blue, with Dark Shadow Gray trim. The interior is black cloth. I have to get cloth because leather makes me sweat. This baby is loaded though. It’s got the 5-disc changer CD player. It’s got the power moon roof. If you want cup holders, this beauty has got them. There are cup holders everywhere. In the middle, on the ceiling in the front, it has sunglass holders. It has two of them. I love sunglass holders. It only has a v6, cause I can’t afford the gas on a v8, but this puppy can move. It has those sharp-looking 18-inch aluminum wheels. This is a thing of beauty. It’s the Ford F-150 Quad Cab. It’s got the 4 doors, so it is easy access for the kids, and their booster seats fit just fine. It has the plastic bed-liner, so my 36-inch Bunton walk behind mower won’t damage the truck. This truck is love at first sight.

Too bad I will never see it. I thought I would be getting it. I was getting prepared for the big day, but then I got some bad news. Kristin, my lovely daughter, got a job. She graduates from college in two weeks, and she got a job. To most parents, this is good news, but to me, it is devastating. See, she got a job with a company car. Now she doesn’t need mine. My grand plan, or scheme as some would say, was to have to give her my car when she got done school. I have a decent little car with low mileage. I was hoping to have to give it up, so that she could get to and from work safely. I was hoping to make it look as if I was a great father, and give her my car, and then I would have to buy another one. Then I was going to buy that beautiful truck that you can picture from the first paragraph. Today is a sad day. Company cars suck. They really suck.

Sorry, no Charlie

2006-05-01T09:08:00.000-04:00

I like chips. Potato chips. I can’t help that I like them, I just do. If there is a snack that I prefer over all snacks, it is chips. My fondness for chips usually goes hand in hand with dip, but it is not an absolute necessity. If we have just plain old chips, then I definitely need some dip, but if we have a flavored chip of some sort, I can get by on chips alone. I realize that there are many more options out there. I am constantly told to have some popcorn or something. Have some pretzels, or some tortilla chips and salsa. They all sound like fine options, but they are not chips and dip. I do not find them to be a satisfying snack item. After eating one of the ‘others’ I am not snack satisfied. I understand that they are healthier options, but the plain idea of snacking at night is not a healthy habit. So, if I am going to be unhealthy eating pretzels at 9:00 pm; I may as well be unhealthy eating something that I enjoy at 9:00 pm.

When I was young I vaguely remember the Charlie Chips guy. This guy was the ultimate delivery guy. He delivered chips. Today, this guy would be my hero. It is a pretty safe bet that I would have this guy at my house everyday. He would deliver fresh chips everyday, and I would get the milkman to deliver sour cream. I would have my snack each day, delivered. Nowadays I have to rely on my wife to get me chips and dip. I can tell by the grocery shopping whether she is mad at me or not. If she comes home and there are two bags of chips, then I know all is well. If she comes home and there are no chips, then I know I may be in trouble. If she comes home and there are no chips, but there is sour cream, then she is just torturing me. That’s not fair really. Last night was one of those nights. There is sour cream, so I can make some dip, but there are no chips. She says to have pretzels and dip. I say; what did I do now? Chips and dip, are like cookies and milk. You don’t replace your milk with soda, and dip the cookies into it. So I ain’t dipping pretzels into dip. Oh, Charlie Chips guy, where have you gone?

Motel 6

2006-04-27T15:44:00.000-04:00

It is already a well-known fact that I am not a fan of the dark. I have night-lights strategically placed throughout the house. The strategy is basically; if there is an open outlet a light goes in it. It’s a simple plan, but it works. So I had a visitor this week that took night-lights to a new level. This visitor Motel 6-ed me. Motel 6’s slogan is “We’ll leave the light on for you.” What I think they mean is that no matter how late you get there, they will have the room lit up and ready. It’s saying welcome to its visitors. Once you check into your room, I don’t think they want you to leave the light on. Am I making sense?

Here’s the deal, William, Mr. Poop and Boogies, was in town this week for work. He and I work together, and we were having some meetings, so he stayed at my house. He’s a fun guest to have cause he is funny and all. My kids like him because he is still basically a 5 year old in a 36-year-olds body. It was just hanging out, and it was fun listening to him complain about poor service in different arenas. He cracks me up with his old-man grumpiness when it comes to his views of how people should treat customers. This is when he acts like an 86 year-old man in a 36 year olds body. Bill’s got a lot of range when it comes to ages. The only puzzling thing about his stay was, he slept with the lights on.

He stayed in Kristin’s room beings that she is away at college. This room is next to the bathroom, so I noticed during my midnight pee break that the lights were still on. I figured he was still awake, so I went back to bed. The next morning I went in to get him up for work, and the light was still on. This clown slept with the light on. I sleep with night-lights; he bypasses the night-lights and just keeps the lights on. What the hell is that? Here’s the kicker, he also sleeps with the covers over his head. Now, if he is sleeping with the lights on and the covers over his head, maybe he is scared. If he is scared, I respect that and understand it. If he sleeps with the lights on, but covers his head because it is too bright, then I say, turn the freaking lights off. What the hell are you trying to do, light up the neighborhood? My house looks like a lighthouse with one light blaring at three in the morning. Did he think a boat was going to come down the cul-de-sac, and wreck his rental car? Was he worried about helicopter traffic? This didn’t happen just one night, but both nights. He slept with the lights on, and the covers over his head. He's a strange dude.

So, anyone who wants to come stay at my house, you’re welcome. I have a slogan now. The Lawnwhisperer’s, “ We’ll leave the light on for you, all freaking night.”

Doesn't Measure Up

2006-04-25T21:30:00.000-04:00

It used to be that the stars had to be perfectly aligned, and the moods just right, in order for us to take the kids out to eat. Now things are a bit easier. We still have some issues, but they are usually solved with crayons and a coloring book. My wife has a bag in the car with both items in case we go somewhere that does not have crayons. The kids are actually very good nowadays in the restaurants, but I still tense up the moment we pull into the parking lot. Actually, I am the worst behaved family member now. I get so worked up worrying about what may happen, that I fail to just relax and enjoy the time out.

This past weekend we went to a place called 99. It is a new place in my area, so we tried it out. It was ok. The beer was cold, and the meat was cooked, so it passes my test. The kids got the typical chicken fingers and fries, and seemed to be fine with the place. My wife ordered her normal, which is nothing. As we were leaving, my wife said, “well, I don’t think that was so good” How she knows this is beyond me. I think she ate 3 fries, and a bite of my burger, and yet was able to determine if the food was good or bad. I looked at the kids and asked them their opinion. “Hey boys, what did you think?” Luke replied, “It was good dad, but it ain’t no Hooters.” So he put it in perspective for me. 99 was ok, but Luke was right, it ain’t Hooters.

Rabbit Patch

2006-04-24T09:48:00.000-04:00

Picture 1: This is the Lawnwhisperers beautiful front lawn.

Picture 2: This is a rabbit that is hanging around the Lawnwhisperer’s beautiful front lawn.

Picture 3: This is the fucking hole that the freaking rabbit dug into the middle of the lawnwhisperers beautiful front lawn. The god damn rabbit probably dug the hole so that she could go have a thousand babies in there, and now the Lawnwhisperer will not be able to fix that patch of grass, cause Mrs. Whisperer saw the rabbit digging in the front lawn and thinks it is cute and stuff, so if something happens to the rabbit she will automatically blame the Whisperer. Mrs.Whisperer also showed the two Jr. Whisperers, who know that the rabbit is going to have babies, and don’t want anything to happen to the babies. So If the Whisperer were to go out there and do anything to this rabbit or its beautiful hole, he would immediately be in trouble from all other family members. Why this fucking rabbit did not dig a hole in the back yard, or on someone else’s yard is beyond the Whisperer. The Whisperer will not stand for this. The Whisperer must get rid of this lawn destroying creature. So now the Whisperer is a hunter. “SHHHH, be very, very, very quiet, I’m hunting rabbits.”

Have a nice Day

2006-04-20T10:16:00.000-04:00

Bon Jovi is coming to town. He will be in Philadelphia in mid July. I am taking my kids to see him. Well, I am trying to get tickets to take my kids to see him. Yes, I realize that my kids are 6 and 4, but Luke will be 5 by the time the concert is here. 6 and 5 equals 11, and I saw Kiss when I was somewhere in that 11 to 13 range. I went with a friend of mine, and his dad. You can look at this as me taking two very young kids or me taking one fairly young kid. Actually, I’m not really concerned with how you look at it. I have never claimed to be the world’s greatest dad, but I may be one of the coolest dad’s out there.

The company that I work for has season tickets to the Phillies. Being season ticket holders, we get first priority on special events at Citizens Bank Park. So I am trying to find the seats that best accommodate a 6 and a 5 year old for a rock concert. I have spoken to 5 different customer service reps for the ticketing agency, but they have yet to help me out. I have to buy the tickets online, and they won’t let me pick seats further away from the stage. They keep giving me what they deem to be ‘Best Available’. Here’s the thing, ‘best available’ is relative term. What I see as ‘best available’, and what they see as ‘best available’ are two totally different things.

I was on the phone with one lady and was explaining why I wanted seats further away. It is really none of business, but I was pleading my case so that maybe she would help me out. I said, “ Look, I want to take my 6 and 5 year old to the concert. I don’t want to be sitting with the crazy crowd. I don’t want to be sitting with the pot smokers, and drug users. I want to be back away, so that I can keep the kids away from the bad people. The seats that I am looking for will allow me to walk around and keep the kids happy.” This is where she stopped me and said, “Do you really think it is a good idea to bring such young kids to a concert?” I got a little pissed. She wasn’t even listening to me. She was stuck on the fact that she thought my kids are too young. She may be right, but that is not her place to say. Who does she think she is, my mother? So I replied, “Hey, if I was looking for parenting advice, I would call a parenting hotline. But see, I’m looking for tickets, so I called the ticket agency. Can you help me out here or not?”

Needless to say, I am still looking for different seats.

Dear Santa

2006-04-17T08:45:00.000-04:00

Santa should work Easter as well as Christmas. I understand the religious part of Easter. I know what the holiday is all about. I am aware of the meaning of Easter. I am a bit puzzled by the Easter Bunny. I don’t get it. I find it to be down right silly. I personally find Santa Claus to be a much more believable character, and frankly a guy that even adults can believe in. But the Easter Bunny, what the fuck is that?

Is it not much more realistic that Santa Claus comes around on Easter and leaves a big basket of hyperactivity for the kids? Santa has a bunch of little helpers, so is it not more believable that the elves dyed all the eggs and hid them through the house and the yard? How believable is it that a great big giant rabbit makes his way around the world leaving candy and stuff for all of the kids? Santa has reindeer, and they fly. That is how he gets around the world in one night. How is the rabbit doing it? I don’t understand it.

As a parent, I find it a lot more manly to be playing Santa Claus on Christmas Eve than I do to be playing the Easter Bunny on Easter Eve. It is almost to embarrassing to even say the words, “Ok honey, the kids are asleep, time to be the Easter Bunny.” There is something about it that just irks me. I enjoy both of these holidays, but Santa is just a cooler character.

My wife thinks that I make a bad Easter Bunny. She thinks that I half assed it this year. Here’s the thing, I went to hide some eggs in the back yard, and it was a bit chilly. I did not have any shoes on, and the grass was wet. My feet got a little cold, so most of the eggs were in a semi-circle close to the back door. All right, all right, all right, I did not get very creative in my egg hiding, but the kids still had fun. They still found all of the eggs, and enjoyed themselves. That’s the point, right? Anyway, I’m writing a letter to Santa. I want to see if he can find it in his busy schedule to work two days a year instead on one.

Not your average soccer practice

2006-04-12T17:05:00.000-04:00

My dad coached all of us nine kids in every sport we played. He says he never saw anything like it before. 9 kids, 3 different sports, for let’s say 15 years. That could be what, 30 different teams? 30 teams times an average of 12 kids per team equals 360 kids. My numbers are probably off, but not by much. If they are off they are under the real number of kids that he has coached, and yet he has never seen or heard of anything like what I went through at my first Soccer practice.

I had the typical kids not paying attention. I had the tears from being kicked in the shin. I had the questions from out of nowhere. I had the attention deficit issues that most 5-6 year olds have. I would be teaching the kids the goalie position and say, “Does anyone have any questions?” I had a kid raise his hand and say, “My sister pinched me today!”
Why he felt the need to tell me that at, at that particular time is beyond me, but that is what coaches deal with. None of that bothers me, actually I get a kick out of it. But I had one kid do the ultimate.

I had two lines going. We were doing a shooting drill. The kids were to dribble through the cones, and then shoot the ball when they got to the line. Things were moving smoothly until I heard, “EEEEEW Stop Peeing on me!” I turned my head and there was one little kid with his pants down peeing in the middle of the field. What is a coach to do there? How do you stop that? What do you say? How do you react, and what the hell was this kid thinking? I said, “Alright, practice is over.” This is going to be a fun season.

The Tale of Two Lawns

2006-04-10T13:50:00.000-04:00

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the day of wisdom. It was the day of foolishness. It was the day of light. It was the day of darkness. It was a day of hope. It was a day of despair. This day, this time, was the opening of whispering season. This is the Tale of Two Lawns. We have my lawn, and everyone else in the neighborhoods lawn. This day was Friday April 7th. I cut my grass on Friday. The official start of Lawn Whispering is here.

I hate stealing from Charles Dickens here, but he had a way with words. So Friday I went out and set the bar. The grass is cut in perfect diagonal lines. It is a deep dark green, while all the neighbors are still yellow. I am about to put down my second application of fertilizer and all the other stiffs have not even done their first. I have forbidden my kids to play on the lawn now. I tell them to play on the neighbor’s lawn, cause they have nothing over there to damage anyway. Hell, that is why the township has parks and playgrounds, so the kids don’t ruin their parent’s lawns. That’s the way I think anyway.

AHH, I love the wonderful smell of freshly cut grass. The beautiful sound of the mowers’ engine as I zip across the lawn. It doesn’t get any better than this. It really doesn’t get any better than whispering season.

Whose afraid of the big bad wolf?

2006-04-07T09:30:00.000-04:00

How scared would you be if you walked into a dark office with this standing to greet you.?

Watch Children

2006-04-05T10:41:00.000-04:00

Kyle is a reader now. He reads and reads and reads. We are at a point where he reads signs on buildings. If my wife runs into the store and we are sitting in the car, Kyle will read everything that he sees. If it is a word that he does not know, he will sound it out just like the guy from Sesame Street does. Pre scrip tion. Prescrip tion. Prescription. It’s cute. He has to read every street sign that we pass. “Dad, slow down, I want to read that sign.” So I slow down so he can read it. I find this to be cute as well. I don’t think the 10 cars lined up behind me find it so cute, but my boy is reading, so they can wait.

Last night driving home from my birthday dinner, we pull into the development, and Kyle wants to read a sign. I pause at the sign for him to get a look. He goes through the sounding it out thing, and reads it. Watch Children the sign read. Watch Children. Luke says, “ We need one of those signs at our house.” My wife and I look at each other, and Vicki says, “Why do we need one of those Luke?” “Well, you guys never watch us. The sign says watch children, and you guys always send us down the basement to play. You’re not watching us when we are down there by ourselves. How about when you send us out back to play on the swing set? Who’s watching us then?” We laugh a little and then Vic explains that we are always watching, and we know that they are safe. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Was Luke’s response. Anyway, I won’t be stopping for Kyle to read any more signs.

The Big, Bad, Ugly Freaking Wolf

2006-04-04T12:35:00.000-04:00

I have told everyone about my fear of dogs. I am afraid of big dogs, little dogs, fat dogs and skinny dogs. It really makes no difference what kind of dog it is either. If it is a member of the dog family, I do not like them. That being said let me tell you about my Saturday.

Before I go into the events that took place on Saturday, I must give you a bit of back round. My boss is a hunter. He lives for hunting and has pretty much hunted for any animal that is huntable. Back in the fall he was wolf hunting in Canada somewhere, and got a few wolves. He has a trophy room somewhere that he keeps his hunted animals in. He had one of his wolves stuffed, and mounted on a fake rock. His wolf was shipped last week, and received at our work facility. I knew it was here, in the warehouse, in a crate. He was going to take it to his house one of these days.

I had missed work on Friday. I had a few Dr. appointments and such, so I was out all day. Being the good employee that I am, I decided to come in on Saturday to get caught up on my work. So I come into the dark empty building alone. Being alone allows me to get a ton of junk done without any interruptions. So, I enter the building and disarm the alarm system. I do not turn any lights on, as the sunlight is lighting up enough for me to see. I stroll down the hallway towards my office. I open my office door, and there in the shadows is a freaking wolf. It was a big, bad, ugly freaking wolf. I freaked out. I started backpedaling, and saying every word in the book. It took me a few seconds to register that this was one of the stuffed wolves, and even after that hit me, I was still scared shitless.

I gathered myself, and got my composure back. I tiptoed around the beast towards my desk. My heart was still pounding, as I sat down in my chair. I turned toward my computer and there was a big, bad, ugly freaking wolf head under my desk. I freaked again. The bastards got me, and they got me good. I grabbed my files and ran out of the office screaming like a little girl. The entire office knew about this practical joke. They all thought that I would be in on Monday, and they were going to be here to see me pass out, but I came in on Saturday. Saturday was April fools day. They did not even mean to get me on April fools, but they did. They got me, the bastards got me good. I hate the people I work with.

Lukey The Kid

2006-04-03T07:42:00.000-04:00

Little kids are cute when they talk about growing up. I like hearing about all the things they are going to do. My kids have a thousand ideas, and they voice them often. Here is the latest.

Luke wants to be a Bank Robber when he grows up. He told my wife this just last night. Out of the clear blue, Luke says, “Mom, I’m going to be a Bank Robber when I grow up.” Vic chuckles and asks, “A bank robber? Why do you want to be a bank robber?”“Because, bank robbers are rich!” Vic tried to explain it to him, that bank robbing was bad, but Luke wasn’t buying it. “Mom, all the money is in the bank, I rob the bank, I am rich.”

So Vic goes on to explain how it is not good to rob banks, and that he could be something else. She tells him how people have to go to work, and work hard to earn their money. She gave him the old, “You can be rich in family and friendship” speech. She let him know that there is more to life than just having a ton of money. She did a good job, she convinced him of something. Cause when she was finished talking he said, “OK, I don’t want to be rich anymore, but I still want to be a bank robber.”

Pee Champ

2006-03-29T13:52:00.000-05:00

In the midst of my ultrasound adventure yesterday something strange was said to me. Something that I can honestly say was never said to me before. Something that many people have never heard before, I’m sure. It was a very odd comment, one that I could not really respond to. The only thing that I could really think of was the Ray Romano skit about giving himself an enema. For those of you who never heard Ray’s standup routine, it’s funny and I recommend the cd.

Midway through the ultrasound I have to empty my bladder so that they can check everything after it is empty. So you basically have before and after pictures of your kidney and such. I wrote about that yesterday. So after I empty out, I have to lie back down on the table. The technician re-applies the cold jelly and starts checking me out again. After a few moments she says this, “You did good emptying your bladder.” Now, it took me a moment to register what she had just said. She basically told me that I did a nice job peeing. What does that mean? “You did good emptying your bladder.”

I had a few things running through my head. First, was she watching me? Was she impressed with my pinpoint accuracy? Did I have good form while emptying out? Was this a contest and I was the fastest pee-er she has ever had. Then I started thinking, can you do a bad job of emptying out your bladder? Maybe some people are not good pee-ers. I was thinking it was a strange thing to say, so I said, “What the heck does that mean?” She said, “Well you emptied all the way out, so you did good.” I still did not get it, and 24 hours later, I am still confused by the comment.

So the technician thinks that I am a good pee-er. My wife is constantly harping at me about somebody missing the target at home. Should I get the technician to send a note home to my wife stating that I do a good job of emptying my bladder? This way my wife can focus her attention on the real culprits in the house. I am a good pee-er, the technician told me so. I’m feeling so confidant that I am willing to challenge anyone to a pee contest. How many other people have ever been told they are good at peeing?

No Voiding

2006-03-28T14:57:00.000-05:00

I have been having some kidney issues lately. I finally went to the Dr. and they sent me for an ultrasound. Usually when I am sent for a test or an X-ray, I bail out and never go. This time I went because, well because, my wife made me go. I can only get by for so long complaining about pain without getting it checked out. So I went for the test.

Getting an ultrasound for your kidney and bladder is not a fun experience. They take you in the waiting room and give you about a gallon of water. They tell you to drink this gallon of water, and wait for approximately an hour. They will be back to do the ultrasound after that. Right before the nurse leaves she turns and says, “Bye the way, No voiding for the entire hour.” No Voiding? What the hell is that? Is that like no loitering?I had to ask for clarification. I called my wife and said, “What does it mean when the nurse tells me there is no voiding? Vicki explained to me that that means no peeing. They need a full bladder for the test. So I said OK. And went about my water consumption.

I was only 20 minutes into my hour when I felt the need to Void. 20 minutes, that’s all. I still had 40 minutes left of Void free water drinking. I was dying. Here’s the thing, I am in a room with 4 other non-voiding water drinkers. Can’t I get a private room to suffer the pain of the full bladder? I am sitting in that room, talking to myself. This stupid *&^($ &*^$#@ bitch says no voiding. I’ll show you no voiding, how about I no void all over the floor. This is surely a form of torture. I want to speak to the damn manager. Is there a voiding manager in this place? I have to void, and I have to void now. Finally I hear, “Mr. Whisperer, you can follow me.”

So I get to the room and lay down on the bed. This freaking technician pours some cold jelly on my gut and starts prodding at my kidneys and bladder. I have a gallon of water in there that just has to be voided and she is acting like it’s a Sunday stroll in the park. The pain! The Agony! Finally she says, “OK, the bathroom is right behind you, go ahead and empty your bladder, then we have to check everything out again.” Like a Ninja, I am out of that bed and in the bathroom. I get in there and I am ready. Nothing is happening. Shit, stage fright! The damn technician is standing three feet away from me behind what amounts to be a cardboard door. I have to void like I have never voided before, and I get stage fright. So I start talking to myself again. “Why don’t you just kick me in mother @$%#^& balls. Who invented this stupid test? I have to pee, and this tech is sitting right outside the mother $%^#@! Door. Can I get a moment of privacy in this stupid place?” Finally, I voided. The pain lingered for a while, but I voided. The technician actually had the nerve to say have a nice day when I was leaving. Have a nice day? Have a nice day? I started talking to myself again as I left.

Blogger Service Announcement

2006-03-28T07:54:00.000-05:00

Recently it has been brought to the attention of the management here at Dad Vs. Dad and at Poop and Boogies that a member of our family has been perusing the Blog-o-sphere and leaving comments on various blogs Anonymously. He may sometimes leave a signature of “William’s Brother” or “LawnWhisperer’s Brother”.

Although we encourage this anonymous blog commenter to read other blogs and to enjoy the experience of blogging, we would like to state that the opinions and statements that he makes in NO WAY reflect the Opinons and Statements of either William or the Lawnwhisperer.

We would also encourage the Anonymous commenting brother to give himself a “handle” as he likes to call it (please note that the Anonymous brother was given a CB Radio by his godfather for his 12th birthday and he seems trapped in the 70’s). We in the computer age would like him to use the phrase User Name. We suggest the user name that he uses be one of the following: PEZ, The Bowler, Mix Master K, or Carson’s Roommate.

Thanks.
The Management

Bad Hair Weekend

2006-03-27T08:30:00.000-05:00

It was a bad weekend for my wife and her hair. On two separate occasions, one of the boys pointed out that she needed to go to the hairdresser. They did not just come out and say it, no; kids have their own special way of letting you know things.

First was Luke. They were out to lunch on Friday. They were in a restaurant that is relatively busy at that time of day. This place also has some pretty close seating, so the other patrons are right on top of you. With the waitress at the table taking their order, Luke noticed something. He said, “Mom, your hair is dying brown!” This brought chuckles and laughs from different directions. My wife highlights her hair blonde. She has a brownish blonde natural color, but highlights it blonde. Basically Luke was saying, “Hey mom, your have dark roots, it’s time to go back to the hairdresser.”

Then on Sunday, it was Kyle’s turn. Vicki was holding Kyle and they were talking. They were having a cute mom and son moment. Then in mid sentence Kyle stopped. He got real close to Vicki’s hair and said, “Mom, you have some white hairs, did you know that?” This too bought on some chuckles and laughs. Basically Kyle was saying, “Hey mom, it’s time to go back to the hairdresser, and get your hair highlighted.”

There was not a third episode, because I am smarter than the boys. I wouldn’t dare say anything about her hair. I know better. The only thing I had to say was, “Honey, I think you look beautiful.” I am not crazy enough to touch the hair topic. I have been there too many times. I have learned long ago, that my opinion means little, and that I don’t know what the hell I am talking about. “Honey, I think you look beautiful”, kind of keeps me in the clear. So that is my statement, and I am sticking to it.

So, you can bet that sometime in the near future my wife will be going to the hairdresser and dropping $120. Thanks boys, thanks a lot.

Crush

2006-03-23T21:02:00.000-05:00

My wife called me at work the other day and said, “John, we have a problem with Kyle at school.” Now, my first thought was, just how much trouble can a kindergartener be in? I’m in that here we go mode when she starts spelling out the problem. This means that the kids are in the car, and she is trying to let me know the deal, so she is spelling out the situation. I am a very slow reader, and that is when I am actually looking at the words on paper. She does not just spell a word or two; she starts spelling an entire sentence. . K-Y-L-E H-A-S A C-R-U-S-H O-N A G-I-R-L A-N-D I-T I-S A-F-F-E-C-T-I-N-G H-I-S W-O-R-K. I have to stop her at this point and say, “Hon, I am still on Has, can you slow it down please?” So she slows down the pace, and I catch on.

This crush is concerning the teacher and in turn is concerning Victoria. Apparently he pays more attention to this girl than he does to the teacher. She is concerned that he may not be paying enough attention to his work. He talks to his crush during reading sessions. The teacher does not want Kyle to fall behind, so she voiced her concern to my wife. My wife voiced her concern to me. So I also had a concern, and voiced it to my wife. “Is she good looking?” This is a valid concern, isn’t it? I find this to be very important information. Is my concern any less valid than the concerns of the teacher? I want to have good-looking grand children. Two good-looking parents usually makes good-looking kids. Was I wrong to ask that question?

Hypothetical Question

2006-03-22T13:48:00.000-05:00

I do some pretty stupid things. Most men do. I also do some things that I do not feel are so stupid, but my wife does. I would say that 99.99% of the time I am not right. I am not saying that I am wrong, but I may not be right. So when I do these things that may not be right, I get in trouble. Sometimes getting in trouble comes with getting yelled at. Like most people, I don’t like to get yelled at. So this leads me to my hypothetical question.

There is a question that is asked all of the time that goes like this: If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it fall, does it make a sound? My answer would be no. With my answer being no, here is my question. When I get in trouble, should I drop my wife off at the nearest forest and then drive away?

Salad and Cupcakes

2006-03-20T20:17:00.000-05:00

Sunday was a strange day. Something happened on Sunday that never happens. My wife baked cupcakes. Kyle’s class was having some type of event, so she had to bake the stuff. Usually we buy the items that are needed for these types of activities, but this time she baked them. I was a little shocked at this. Baking falls under the cooking category, and cooking is not something that my wife does. I do not know if my wife is a good cook or not, I just know she does not do it. Asking me if my wife is a good cook is like asking me if I am a good Astronaut. How can you be good or bad at something you do not do?

When Kristin was in third grade she had a homework assignment that had to do with meals. The kids had to draw a picture and write a sentence about their favorite thing that their parents made them to eat. Most of the kids were saying stuff like, “I love my mom’s lasagna.” “I love to have roast beef.” You want to know what Kristin said? She said, “My mom makes the best salad.” Yep. Salad she said. Now, I must say that my wife can put together a tasty little salad, but that is not cooking.

Don’t get me wrong, my wife does cook some things, but very few. She is a pretty sexy looking chef, when she does cook, but she rarely does. We have been married for 8 plus years and I still can’t tell if she is good at it or not. I now know this though, she makes the best salads, and she can make cupcakes. I don’t think NASA will be calling me any time soon, but we are moving in the right direction

Fire Marshall

2006-03-19T20:11:00.000-05:00

We did not play with matches growing up. We did not go camping and start a fire with two sticks. We never set the house on fire while cooking on the stove. Our mom may have done the stove thing once or twice, but the eight boys, we were fine. Fire was never an issue for any of us. Still, somehow, my sister became paranoid about fire. I don’t know how or why, but she is a fire guru. She is the official Fire Marshall of the family.

She is the type that has smoke alarms for her smoke alarms. She has escape routes mapped out I am sure, and knows the fire companies phone number by heart. She has a 1-year-old daughter who will know how to Stop, Drop, and Roll, before she will know how to walk. My sister makes Smokey The Bear look like a Pyromaniac. She gave us all our own fire safety kits as house-warming gifts. She really has issues with fire.

This weekend, my kit paid off. We are having work done on the house, and the guys left a propane heater on. This was on to help speed up the drying process of the joint compound (spackle). We were out most of the day, and when we returned we just went about our business. About an hour or so later our carbon monoxide detector started going off. I went out to the addition and noticed this thing was on, so I turned it off, and opened all of the windows. Everything was fine. But what if I did not have the carbon monoxide detector? Would my entire house have filled up, and none of us known. Could we have gone to bed, and never have woken up? I don’t know how much of that gas it takes to kill someone, but I know it does kill you. So my sister basically could have saved our lives with that thing, so, thanks sis. I still have not found a use for the Fire Retardant Jump suit you gave me, but I’ll keep it around.

6 year old Soccer

2006-03-17T13:38:00.000-05:00

This is what I have to look forward to now that I will be Kyle’s coach. This is a live action shot of his team during one game from 2 seasons ago. Points of interest from this picture: Note the goalie not paying any attention to the game. Also note the coach tying one kids shoe, during the game. Yes, that is Kyle with his shirt pulled over his head. Does anyone see the ball in this picture? I’m going to have fun.

Triple D's

2006-03-16T14:27:00.000-05:00

I am not the world’s biggest chicken, but I am definitely in the running. I am certainly not proud of the fact that things scare me, but I am not too proud to tell people about it. As evidenced by my last post, I am not the big tough dad that I am supposed to be. I get more scared at things than my kids do, and my wife has to be the strong one. In my house, if we hear a noise in the middle of the night, I am not the one checking it out. The only reason I would be getting out of the bed, would be to hide underneath it. So noises pretty much go un-investigated. There has been a few times where I actually pretended to go check out a noise. I would leave the bedroom, close the door behind me, and just stand there. I would wait a minute or two, and then come back in and say it was nothing.
That is like two solid minutes of Fear Factor right there.

The three things that scare me the most are dogs, the dark, and the dentist. I do not like any of them. I don’t like the thought of any of them, and I do not like being near any of them. When I die, and if I am sentenced to hell, you can bet that I will be sitting in a dark dentist office with dogs biting at my feet. The three things that scare me most are the Triple D’s. Now, most guys love triple D’s, but me, they have a totally different meaning. So my wife has to take on the tough guy persona, cause me; I don’t have the stomach for it.

We have nightlights throughout our house. There is one in almost every room. Most people would think that they were for the kids, but they are really for me. We can run out of a lot of things in our house. We can run out of milk, or bread, or just food in general. Hell, I don’t even mind running out of toilet paper. But nightlight bulbs, I have them stashed by the dozens. I am the electric companies dream. Whenever I am in my house alone at night, every light is on. It’s safer that way. Maybe when I grow up I will be tougher. Maybe my fears will dissipate with time. Maybe, just maybe I won’t have to have my kids go upstairs first at bedtime. What? Of course they go up the dark stairs first. They have to make sure the boogieman isn’t there. Then they give me the all-clear sign, and then I tuck them in.

Sixth Sense

2006-03-15T12:47:00.000-05:00

I have said it a thousand times, but nobody believes me. My son Kyle sees dead people. His behavior is not exactly like the movie, but he gets pretty close. He does not have nightmares all of the time, but he does go through spurts of bad dreams. Last night was the tops. The poor kid was totally freaked, and in turn, I was totally freaked. I was so freaked that I don’t know if I can sleep in my house anymore. I may be calling my mom to see if she will take me in for a couple of days, just until I have the house exorcised.

This is how it went. He woke up calling for me. I went in and he was shaking uncontrollably and was speaking erratically. His words were not making any sense, but he was talking to me. He was in that sleeping, but awake mode. He was crying, and scared. So I picked him up, and tried to sooth him. He settled down, but was still visibly shaken. I laid down in bed with him and tried to calm him down. After a minute or two, he sat straight up and said, “We got to get out of here dad.” So I took him in to my room and tried to go to sleep. He fell off to sleep, and everything seemed fine. After he was sleeping for a while I carried him back to his room. I put him in bed, and hung out for a little just to be sure he was ok.

It only took two minutes for him to be back into the shaking and speaking in tongues or whatever it was. He started saying, “They’re on the floor dad, all over the floor.”
“What is on the floor bud, what?” I said. He turned and looked at me with glazed eyes and shouted, “The bad people.” I jumped into that bed so damn fast and pulled the covers up to my nose. “What are the bad people Kyle?” I questioned. He replied softly, “We have to get out of here dad, we have to get out of here.” I sat there for a second, and tried to gather myself, cause at this point, I am absolutely petrified. I am the grown-up, and I am shitting myself. He has me convinced that there is something on the floor.So I did what all great fathers do. I picked him up, and ran like hell to my wife. He spent the night with us, and I slept with one eye open, and the covers over my head. I can’t go back there. I can’t. Mom, if you read this, can I stay at your house for a while?

Hell in Disguise

2006-03-14T12:10:00.000-05:00

I don’t win many things. I have never hit the lottery. I have never won at bingo. Triple Sevens have never come across my slot machine. But now, today, I am a winner. A winner of what you may ask? I am the proud winner of a 5-6 year old soccer team. Can you f-ing believe that? Soccer is big where we live. The kids start when they are like 2 and they play all year round. They have a spring season, a fall season, and indoor season, a rainy season, and a sunny season. They have seasons within the seasons. It’s ridiculous actually. Anyway, I never in a million years thought that they would need me to coach. There is a million dads that want to coach, but I told my wife to sign me up, just to make her feel better. I wanted her to see that I was willing to do good things for my kids. I didn’t really want to do it. I was basically throwing my name into the pool, knowing that the odds were against me. Shit, they picked me. I won. I won hell in disguise.

Here’s the thing, I want to coach my kids in sports, just not soccer. I hate soccer. Talk about boring. Did you ever watch paint dry? I don’t even know the rules of soccer. I know you can’t use your hands, and that is it. 5-6 year old soccer is cute to watch, but to coach it is an entirely different animal. I have trouble handling my two little guys let alone 13 other little guys. Kyle is entering his fifth season of soccer. I have been to most of his practices, and all of his games. 6 year olds do not grasp the sport. They kick each other. They fall down a lot. They all hover around the ball. They move down the field like one big amoeba. They change the subject on you when you are trying to explain something to them. They are more interested in what the snack at half-time will be than they are in what you are telling them.

Now that I have been blessed with getting to coach Kyle, I will have to do it again for Luke. This means that I will never be able to get out of it. It’s like the mob. Once you’re in, you can never get out. I want to coach baseball and basketball, not soccer. In soccer, a 1 to 0 game is considered a good game. How much fun is that? Did you ever sit and watch the washing machine go through the rinse cycle? That’s what we’re talking about here. I have zero luck, and now I get picked for something. I get picked to coach 5-6 year old soccer. My luck has just gotten worse.

Family Snapshot

2006-03-13T09:46:00.000-05:00

This is a family photo that was taken a little bit ago. We are a family of super heroes. In some circles I am known as Mr. Incredible. I can’t tell you where those circles are, but I am pretty incredible. That’s my wife on the left, she is Elastigirl. She was an All-American gymnast back in the day. Kristin is in the middle, she is not in costume in this picture, but her Super Hero name is The Money Pit. She has an uncanny ability to make money disappear at an alarming rate. Kyle is the one in glasses. His name is The Professor. He is the smartest one of the bunch. Then there is Luke. Yeah he looks cute in still frames like this one, but he is a bad one. His name is The Tormentor. He is all about tormenting others, especially the Professor.

Father-in-Law

2006-03-10T15:01:00.000-05:00

My father-in-law is a pretty good dude. Him and I get along very well. We have similar interests. We both like to golf. We both like to work, and we are both wise-asses. He is much more of a wise-ass than I am. As a matter of fact, I think the only things he says are wise cracks. It does not matter the time or place, he has something smart to say about anything.

Here is an example. I was going to his house to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter. I get there, and it is only he and I in the family room. He offers me a beer, and we sit down and watch golf. I am a nervous wreck. I am trying to build up the courage to ask him, but am too much of a chicken. He absolutely knows why I am there, cause I had never just sat there and watched golf with him before. He does nothing to ease my mind. He just keeps getting me another beer. It takes nearly a six-pack for me to muster up the courage to ask the question.

I go through this big speech about how I love Vicki and Kristin. I use every possible cliché, and catch phrase to get his attention and support. And then I go into this:
“Ummm, I don’t know if I am supposed to ask you for your blessing, or if I am supposed to ask you for your permission, but I would like to marry Vicki.”
He says, “ How about you ask me for my condolences.”

See, wise ass. I am sitting there sweating this thing out, and I am half drunk by the time the question comes out of me, and he says that. He’s funny like that. Anyway, he is having surgery on Monday, and I was thinking about him, so I wrote my favorite story about him. He is still a wise ass though.

We'll See

2006-03-09T16:34:00.000-05:00

I get asked a lot of questions from the boys. They always want to do something. As soon as I walk in the door I am barraged by their requests. I don’t even have my coat off, and they are shooting me with the list of what they want to do. My most common response is “We’ll see.” I say it a thousand times a day. I know it is not the answer that they want to hear, but it is a stall tactic on my part. I rarely just come out and say no, because it is hard to say no to those two guys. No comes with whining. No comes with grumpiness, and sometimes no leads to tears. I don’t like the three of those things, so I rarely just say no. I lead them on, that’s what I do.

The other day I come home from work and get the same type of thing. They are shooting requests at me at a rate that I can’t keep up with. So I hit them with a couple of ‘We’ll Sees’ and move on through the kitchen. Luke stops me. He moves right in my path and goes on a little tangent. “We’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see. All you ever say is we’ll see. And do you know what we’ll see means dad? It means no. So why don’t you just say no instead of we’ll see?” So I said “Ok, no, we can’t play video games tonight.” He looked up at me and said, “That’s better.” And walked away.

The Shop

2006-03-08T16:35:00.000-05:00

The Shop has been good to me. The Shop was there for me in my biggest times of need. The Shop was holding back tear after tear for many years at my house. I am afraid to say now, that The Shop has lost its ability to work for me anymore. I loved The Shop, but it is over. We had a nice run, The Shop and I, but they caught on. The gig is up, and I am left dealing with the pain. I’ll miss you Shop, and thank you, but I must come up with something new.

Every now and then Victoria and I will clean out the playroom. We will take the toys that the kids do not use anymore, and give them to people we know that have younger kids. This allows us to have room for their new toys, and keep the place in order. Without fail, after we cleaned the place, one of the kids would be looking for one of the removed toys. They would come calling, “Mom, Dad, where is my truck with the blue motorcycle on it?” My wife and I would look at each other with that ‘oh, shit’ look, and think here comes a meltdown. But me, I’m quick with this type of stuff. My response would be, “Luke, we took it to the Shop to get fixed.” He would look at me funny, but be happy that we were getting it fixed. He did not know that the thing wasn’t really broken. He would go and tell his brother, “Kyle, daddy took the toy to the shop to get fixed.” Off they would go, playing with something else. Another beautifully told lie to the kids.

I can’t even tell you how many different things went to The Shop. We have had everything from baseballs to board games at the shop. Action figure upon action figure have been at the shop. The beauty of the shop was that they would forget about it after a while, and never ask again. We were getting rid of their stuff, but they thought we were fixing it. It got to the point where they would say, “hey dad, did you take my army tank to the shop?” I would reply, “ Yeah, it had to get fixed.” “OK”, they would say, and keep on playing. No tears, no complaining, it was nice.

The Shop thing doesn’t work anymore. Someone must have told them that the Shop doesn’t exist. They are onto me, and I need a new answer. I can’t tell them that I threw the stuff out. Now what? I’m screwed. Maybe I will switch and say that I sent them out to get cleaned. Yeah, The Cleaners.

Words of Wisdom

2006-03-07T20:29:00.000-05:00

The following is 100% true. The conversation that I am about to describe happened last night during dinner. I am not embellishing this story one single bit, and my wife was there to witness it. I did not even start the conversation; it seemed to pop out of nowhere, much like most conversations with a 6 year old do. I am very proud of my son for his beautiful words. He is wise beyond his years.

Me: “ Hey buddy, how was school today?”
Kyle: “Good.”
Me: “What did you do in school?”
K: “Nothing, just work.”
Me: “ How was the rest of your day?”

Out of nowhere, the following came out of his mouth.

Kyle: “ Dad, when I get bigger, I am not going to get married.”
Me chuckling: “why not?”
Kyle: “ Cause then I will be able to do what ever I want. I will be able to eat candy whenever I want. I will be able to play games like golf and stuff. I won’t have to worry about my electricity. I will be able to have all the soda I want. I won’t have to come right home from work and go to bed. I will be able to stay up and watch TV. I will be able to do everything.”

Me laughing: “What does all of that have to do with getting married?”
Kyle: “Cause when you get married, you don’t get to do anything”

With those last few words I looked at my wife, and she looked at me, and we started laughing again. I have spoken about my boy genius before, but I did not know how much of a genius he was. Now I know. He is the smartest man on the planet.

Pee Lessons

2006-03-06T20:03:00.000-05:00

Most things that happen at my house are my fault. Whether it is a direct fault, or an indirect fault, it usually comes back to me. The most recent fault of mine is the poor job I have done at teaching the boys how to pee. That’s right, I said pee. We have a bit of a pee problem at our house, and I am the reason for it. That is how my wife feels anyway. Someone in the house is doing a whole lot of missing, while they are pissing, and Vicki has had enough.

Since I am the dad, it is natural to be the boy pee teacher. I think I have done a fine job considering that they both don’t wet their pants. They both make it to the bathroom, and pee in the toilet. Apparently we have a loose cannon in the house, and I have been instructed to launch an investigation. I must find the culprit, and put them back in basic training. They will have to go back to Peeing 101. The problem is that I am not standing there watching them pee, so how would I know? I’ll figure something out, as far as the recon mission goes, but we have an inconsistent pee man on our hands. My wife has informed me that they don’t miss the same all the time. Sometimes it’s the wall, sometimes it’s the floor, and sometimes it’s the back of the toilet. So it is an aiming issue I am sure, but I don’t like her insinuation that I may be involved.

I am a fine pee-er. I have dead aim. I have the ability to pee in the middle of the night without ever turning a light on. I know every step to that bathroom. I get out of the bed and steady myself. I then take three normal strides toward the door, and make a 45- degree turn. After that, it’s two and a half strides, then a hard right, and another hard right. I’m there; I do my thing, right down the middle, flush, and then retrace my steps back to bed. A man with those kinds of skills does not have aiming problems. I will catch the Misser-Pisser, and will deal with him in the proper manner. My investigation starts today.

Kyle Solo

2006-03-06T09:56:00.000-05:00

The follwoing is a Re-Run post which was orignally done as a guest post for Poop and Boogies. The LawnWhisperer is still on vacation and should be back tomorrow.

I have three kids. My daughter is 21 and in college. My sons are 5 and 4. I am currently parenting at two separate ends of the spectrum. I am not sure which end of the spectrum is more difficult, but I can say that the 5 and 4 year old require a more acute sense of catastrophe stopping skills. That is my position in the family. I stop potential catastrophes. I will let you in on my most recent one.

Occasionally, I get the two boys to myself for a day or two. I do not like when my wife gets free time, but apparently I get more than my share, and have to give her some space.So my days alone with the boys usually start with a trip to the toy store. I find that buying them a new toy in the morning hours saves me at least a half a day of aggravation. This particular day is going to be a Star Wars day. They have just gotten into the first 3 movies, well the second three, but the first three filmed. You know what I’m talking about, the 25 year old movies.

My younger sons name is Luke. My older son is Kyle. So, we get to the store and start looking at guys. You got the Storm Troopers. You got Darth Vader. You got Chewbacca. If they were in the movie, they have a guy for it. Naturally, Luke wants a Luke Skywalker guy. He likes that it is his name and he says it a hundred times. “Dad, he has the same name as me, I want him.” I say that is fine and grab a Luke Skywalker.

With this I notice, with my keen sense of Catastrophe stopping skills, that Kyle is teary eyed and ready to have a meltdown. “He has a guy with his name, I don’t have a guy with my name. I don’t want a guy. Star Wars is stupid.” This conversation is getting louder, and more animated with every sobbing word. I need to do something. So I do what every great parent does, I lie. I tell him that Han Solo’s real name is Kyle. I tell him that his nickname is Han. Kyle falls for it. Luke buys Luke Skywalker, and Kyle buys Kyle Solo. I get a half a day of happiness. Catastrophe averted. I sold that lie so well, that when we watch the movie, my entire family refers to Han Solo as Kyle. It was a thing of beauty.

Why I Lawn Whisper

2006-03-02T08:40:00.000-05:00

The Lawnwhisperer is away for a few days. So this is a Re-run post from a guest post done over at Poop and Boogies.

I am the self proclaimed Lawn Whisperer. I take great pride in having the nicest lawn in the neighborhood. I love when my neighbors ask for advice, and I won’t give it to them. I recently told my one neighbor this, “Bob, I’ll give you a few secrets, but only if you promise to move.” “What?” he said, looking confused. I said, “ Listen, if I give you advice, and your lawn takes off, then I won’t have the nicest lawn anymore. So you agree to move out of the neighborhood, and I will give you some pointers.” Needless to say, Bob didn’t move, and his lawn still looks like shit.

The real beauty of taking care of the lawn is that I get to do it all by myself. Well, me and Monster. Monster is my mower. It’s short for the Green Monster, named after the famed left field fence at Fenway Park. Monster is a 36-inch, Bunton Walk Behind. I have the rider Velkee attachment that I stand on to ride. My wife got that for me, best damn present I ever got. Me and Monster, twice a week, that’s 3 hours of freedom. Count them guys, three hours of peacefulness in one week. You can’t beat it. This is the real reason that I whisper to the lawn.

My lawn is my fourth kid. I treat her the same as my other three kids. I give her all the TLC she deserves. And you know what? She appreciates me. My lawn has never talked back to me. My lawn has never poured her dinner on the floor. My lawn has never borrowed the car. My lawn has never left the playroom a mess, then yelled at me for making her clean up. My lawn has never hit her brother, just because. My lawn has never given me a headache. My lawn has never called me stupid. My Lawn has never thrown up all over the bed at two in the morning. My lawn has never thrown up all over the bed at three in the morning, after I changed the sheets at two in the morning. My lawn never used the coffee table as a launching pad, and the couch as a landing pad. My lawn listens to me. I whisper to my lawn, and she says nothing back. Did you hear that…nothing. I love my lawn. I take care of my lawn. I whisper to my lawn, and she listens. I can’t tell you what I say to my lawn, cause if my wife found out, I’d be divorced

Lost Chance

2006-03-01T07:30:00.000-05:00

I am a Doug Flutie fan. I will pause a few seconds for all of you people to laugh…………………………. I played a little football in high school, and Flutie was lighting up the college ranks at the time. He was a quarterback, and so was I. He was short for the position, and so was I. All of that added up to him being my favorite player, and I have followed him since.

I had a chance to meet Doug Flutie once. It was a small chance, but the moment was there. We were in Disney World. My wife and I took Kristin when she was 11 or so. We were walking through the park, and my wife had to go to the ladies room, so I took Kris over to get some ice cream. We were standing in line, when I looked over, and there was my sports hero. He was getting ice cream as well. There were no other people around. This was my chance. I asked Kris for her autograph book. You know the one where all the characters sign. “ Kris, give me your book and a pen.” She said, “why who do you see?” I said, “just give it to me, and stay right here.” She said a little more forcefully, “John, who do you see, is it Goofy or Mickey?” I was getting a little nervous about him leaving so I said, “Kristin, it is Doug Flutie, and I want to get his autograph.” And this is where my chance disappeared. She yelled, “DOUG FLUTIE, Who is DOUG FLUTIE?”

He turned and looked me right in the eyes, with that, Oh Shit; I’ve been recognized look. As I am fumbling to find a pen, a crowd of people starts forming around Doug. He signs some autographs, and is chatting it up with the people. I can’t get in close enough. I was ten feet away, with no obstructions, until Kris spoke up, and now I can’t get near him. He politely says that he has to go, and just wants to enjoy the day with his family. The crowd lets him leave, and off he goes. I spotted him out, and yet I got nothing.

So my wife comes out and I am distraught. She laughs when I tell her that Kristin ruined my chance to meet my sports hero. I took a picture of Doug as he walked away. I still have it in our photo album. There are pictures of Goofy, and Cinderella, and Mickey, and Doug Flutie’s back. Here we are, some 11 years later, and I still hear those words. “Doug Flutie? Who is Doug Flutie?”

My 7 Opinions

2006-02-27T18:13:00.000-05:00

The saying goes like this: Opinions are like Assholes, everybody has one. I find this statement to be true. Now, I take this to another level. If opinions and assholes are one in the same, then I have seven opinions for brothers. Here’s the deal. My brothers are all assholes. I don’t mean this in a derogatory way. It is almost said as a term of endearment. I can’t tell you the amount of times that the last words out of my mouth before I hang up the phone with any of them is, “you’re an asshole, later.”

Now if you were to interview any one of those 7 guys, they would all tell you the same thing. “Yeah, my brothers are assholes.” If you were to interview my dad, he would say the same thing. My mother’s response would be a little bit different. She would more than likely add my father to the list. So she would say something to the affect, “ I raised eight assholes, and married one.” Now, if you interviewed my sister, the one and only female in the litter, you would have to cover the young peoples ears. She thinks we’re more than assholes. I can’t print the things she would say. So, I have no problem saying that we are a family of assholes, or opinions if you like.

It’s fun. Whenever all of the Opinions get together, we laugh. We have a great time with our assholeness. Do you think Disney would pick us up and do a show? The Lawnwhisperer and the 7 Opinions. It’s got a nice ring to it. We could have names just like Sleepy and Doc, but ours would be Big, and Stupid.

Big Asshole said to Stupid Asshole, “hey lets go make fun of F-ing Asshole and see if he gets pissed.” Sounds like quality TV to me, but then again, that's just my opinion.

Addiction

2006-02-26T19:49:00.000-05:00

Some years ago, my brother Kevin said something that stuck with me. The conversation was about kids, and video games. The talk was about whether or not his kids were going to get the latest and greatest game console. Some in my family think that video games should not be allowed, and others are more lenient. Kevin’s theory was pretty simple. He said, “ I don’t want my kids to be video junkies, but I also don’t want them to be the only kids in their class that don’t know how to play.” He was thinking deeper than just the video games themselves, and was thinking of the social implications that it could have on his kids. I thought that made all the sense in the world. Let’s face it, video games are a part of kid’s lives, and they are not going away. So my wife and I subscribe to the Kevin theory, let them play, but monitor the games and length of time they play.

So this year at Christmas the awesome people that I work with all chipped in and got me X BOX. So my wife and I got the kids some games, and they love it. We have the occasional tears when we make them turn it off, but the Kevin theory is working well. There is only one problem: I am freaking addicted. That’s right, the kids are ok, but me, I can’t put it down. As soon as the kids are in bed, I am playing Tiger Woods 2006.

I have some questions. Is George Bush still the president? Did we catch Bin Laden yet? Who won the Super Bowl? When do the Olympics start? I am so far out of the loop. I haven’t watched the news in 2 months. I am too tired in the morning to read the paper. I may be missing out on some things, but I can’t put the controller down. Is there a support group for me? “Hi, I’m John, and I’m a video gameaholic.” There, I said it. I’m trying to fight it. I want badly to sit and have a conversation with my wife, but I can’t. Unless she can tell me the break of the green on the 7th hole at Pebble Beach, I’m not listening. So the Kevin Theory works for the kids, but what about 36 year olds?

Still the Boss

2006-02-24T10:36:00.000-05:00

I met my wife at work. We both worked at UPS. She was one of the important people, and I wasn’t. She was a full time supervisor, and I was a part time supervisor. For most of the time that we worked together she was not really my boss, but she was higher up than me. She was also smoking hot. Finally one day, the change was made. My wife became my direct supervisor. Let me tell you, I was set. She had no choice but to see me everyday. I no longer had to go out of my way to see her. I didn’t have to make excuses as to why I was at the other side of the building. I was going to be able to work my magic, without having to work very hard. It was like I had died and gone to heaven. That lasted 5 minutes.

The thing about my wife is that she was good at her job. She was focused, and she didn’t take any shit. She was firm. She had her rules, and they were to be followed. I on the other hand was getting by with my good looks and charm. She had this thing about paper work. The thing was, she wanted it done. They used to make us fill out these forms. They had a form for everything. They had forms to fill out that were about the forms. It was silly really. Anyway, I did not do my paperwork, cause I found it to be time consuming. I was all about running an effective operation. I ran the tightest ship within the tightest ship. I had gotten nothing but accolades from my previous supervisors. I was winning awards and stuff. Then she comes in and actually wanted this paperwork.

We got quarterly reviews from our supervisors, and it directly reflected the raise we got at the end of the year. My wife killed me. She ripped me up on that review. It was the worst review that I had ever gotten in my UPS career. Paperwork? We’re talking about paperwork? That’s all I could say. So at my year-end review I am sitting with an even higher up guy and he can’t understand why I had three great quarterly reviews, and one bad one. The answer is simple I told him. “Vicki likes me, and she overcompensated the negative as to not show her affection for me.” The guy laughed and said, “Dude, you don’t stand a chance with Vicki.”

This all happened before we ever started dating. Now we are married for almost 9 years. She is still my boss. She is still smoking hot. I would still go out of my way to get a glimpse of her. I can still get by with my good looks and charm. She still has this thing with paper work. She likes receipts when I purchase stuff or go places. It has something to do with balancing the checkbook or something. I am afraid to ask for a review. I am afraid to know where I stand.

UnReality TV

2006-02-23T12:37:00.000-05:00

We’re all in the same boat; we are flooded with reality TV shows. I personally am tired of it, but really what else is on television these days. The problem I have with Reality TV is that I find it very unrealistic. The names of the shows are all catchy, but seriously, they are not anything like happens in my everyday life. That being said, how real are they? Following is a list of how I would like to see the shows go.

SURVIVOR: Skip the people on a remote island somewhere. I am a survivor. It is rare that this happens, but it has happened, my wife going away for a weekend. She goes away, and leaves me at home with the kids. Shit, from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, I have the kids. If I make it through that weekend without a mental breakdown, I am a winner. I get bonus points if the kids are not bleeding and nothing is broken.

The Amazing Race: There is nothing amazing about two people bungee jumping to beat a roadblock. Here is the real amazing race. Driving on the turnpike, with 15 miles until the next exit, and your 4 year old says he has to go to the bathroom. If he’s got to go number 1, then you simply pull over on the side of the road. But if he has to go number 2, the race is on. If you make it to the rest stop in time, it is amazing.

Wife Swap: I am married to the single hottest chick on the planet, why would I swap her?

The Bachelor: This is how the bachelor goes in my house. I have a 22- year old daughter. She has had boyfriends. My wife and I put the guys through our tests. I grill the hell out of them. I try some scare tactics. We choose which guy we like. It is pretty simple, we choose the bachelor, Kristin has little say. Seems fair, doesn’t it?

American Idol: I sing in the shower. If my wife or kids tell me I sound like a howling dog, I lose. If they don’t say anything, I get a record deal.

Nanny 911: That lady doesn’t stand a chance with my kids. I have seen the show, and I know damn well that she would be calling 911 before she left my house.

Anyway, they are just some of my thoughts today.

I Don't Know

2006-02-22T14:30:00.000-05:00

Can you imagine what it would be like to be ‘I don’t Know’? If ‘I don’t know’ was a real person, how much trouble would he or she be in? ‘I don’t know’ has been responsible for almost everything that has happened in my house. There has not been one broken glass, or one stained rug, that has not been blamed on ‘I don’t know’. Can we give the guy a break? Think about it, ‘I don’t know’ would be grounded for like 30 years.

“Who put the remote in the trash can?” ‘I don’t know’ is the response.
“Why are there gummi bears stuck to the ceiling fan?” I don’t know.
“Who put the cheerios in my sneakers?” I don’t know.
“Who wrote with marker all over the table?” I don’t know.

See how that goes? The guy is blamed for everything. Could it be that there is that one bad guy living in my house, and I have just not met him yet? Could my boys really be telling the truth? Does ‘I don’t know’ have an older brother named ‘When I get around to it’?

“Hun, I’m out of underwear, can you do a load of whites?” When I get around to it.
“Hey we’re running low on food, how about some shopping?” When I get around to it.
I have never met these two individuals, but they are sure talked about a lot. I am however, very familiar with their cousin ‘Not Now’. Yeah, ‘Not Now’ and my wife are best friends.

Frasier

2006-02-22T07:51:00.000-05:00

‘Cheers’ was one of the greatest sitcoms ever. ‘Cheers’ was the place where everybody knows your name. ‘Cheers’ will always be considered one of the best. From ‘Cheers’ came Frasier. Frasier was one of the supporting characters in the show. These supporting characters were part of the reason the show was so loved. Frasier went on to be a long-standing, funny sitcom in its own right. The Lawnwhisperer is Frasier.

Poop and Boogies is the equivalent to Cheers, and the Lawnwhisperer is Frasier. I am a spin-off of the greatness that is Poop and Boogies. I am not riding Bill’s coat tails; I just got my own show. See, out of the four people that actually read Dad vs. Dad, three of them are family, and they think I am just using Bill’s audience. It is true, but how many people got hooked on Frasier because they knew him from Cheers? Many is the answer. I was just a supporting character to P&B, and the producer of P&B wanted a spin-off. The King of Queens is a spin-off from Everybody Loves Raymond. That show does pretty well. Who knows, maybe my blog spin-off is a hit with the viewers. I like to think that I could be Frasier.

The flip side to the spin-offs is Joanie Loves Chache. If I take the same path as this Happy Days offshoot, I will be off the air by next week. We’ll see. Check your guide for local listings.

Reputation at Stake

2006-02-21T13:03:00.000-05:00

I love a nice lawn. I love a good lawn mower or tractor. There are only a couple of weeks of misery left, and then the Lawnwhisperering season is in full bloom. I love Mid-March in Southeastern Pa. That is when everything starts. One thing I don’t love is when a family member puts my reputation in jeopardy. I am afraid that I have a loose cannon in the family, and frankly, he is embarrassing me.

To keep his identity from getting out, I will refer to this family member as Mole. See, Mole is a pretend whisperer. He likes to try to do all the proper steps of lawn maintenance, but he comes up just short each season. I will say that each season he has gotten better, but now he has taken two giant steps backward. Mole went out and got himself a lawn tractor. He got a Cub Cadet, 42 inch deck, Hydrostatic, 20 by 10 wheels in the back, and blah, blah, blah. The issue is not the tractor (cause I love a nice tractor when I see one) the issue is the attachments. Mole intends to get a cart for the back of his tractor. Now, I can’t have a family member go out and ruin my great image like this. Everyone in the Lawnwhispering Community knows the golden rule. FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS DRIVE A TRACTOR WITH A CART!!! Can you imagine the embarrassment? How can the Lawnwhisperer have a brother who pulls a cart in public? What would the people say about me? How could I explain myself? That is like Sylvester Stallone letting his brother pretend to be a rock star. You remember that, right? Sly is kicking ass in the box office with smash hit after hit, and then his brother goes and releases an album. Look what happened to Sly since. His works since then include, Over The Top, and Stop or My Mom Will Shoot. The poor guy is out there filming Rocky 12 right now just to try and get back into the game.

I can see him now. I can see the smile on Mole’s face as he rides around in circles pulling his little cart. The image is disturbing to me. I have to stop this. He cannot run amuck and ruin the reputation of the Lawnwhisperer. Does anyone have any suggestions?

Captain Morgan's and Mondays

2006-02-21T08:36:00.000-05:00

Parenting is challenging. I am the first to admit that parenting is challenging…for my wife. I kind of have it made by being the guy that gets to leave the house everyday. I am the weekend guy. I am the fun guy, and my wife is the parent. It kind of sucks for her, but somebody has to do it. On Saturday and Sunday we do everything as a family, but I am the one that the boys want to hang with. This makes for very tiresome weekends.

Young Skywalker and Solo are very energetic, high speed, crazy, lunatic kids. They are fun, but brutal. Keeping them entertained is a must. How my wife does it during the week is beyond me. The thing is, she won’t tell me any of her secrets. Nope, they are for her, and her alone. The fact that she is still somewhat sane leads me to believe that she has some secrets on how to handle the boys. So I go through the weekends trying to keep my sanity, and she is smiling all along. So I resorted to drinking.

Friday and Saturday nights are Captain Morgan’s nights. Captain and Coke after the kids go to bed. It soothes me a little in preparation for the next morning. I do not get hammered or anything, I just take the edge off. Then Sunday night, I start smiling. Cause on Sunday night, I know that Monday is right around the corner. AHHH, Monday morning. I am up before the sun rises, whistling in the shower. I am whistling happy tunes, cause I know I am leaving for work. I love work. I can rest at work. I rest up for the next weekend. So, other than my family, my two favorite things are Captain Morgan’s and Mondays. Is this wrong?

Church

2006-02-19T21:58:00.000-05:00

I recently started going back to church. I basically stopped going years ago, for reasons that still piss me off, but I figured my kids need some kind of religious guidance. They are not big fans of church, but until they are big enough to beat me up, they have to listen to my rules. This is the second attempt by my wife and I to get the kids into the church scene.

The first attempt was a little more than a year ago. We went to church, and were a little late. I find it best to be a little late, and leave a little early, for my own sanity that is. So we get there a little late, and are forced to sit in the balcony area. My kids find the balcony to be cool. The problem is that the choir is on the balcony. My guys love their music; so sitting with the band is the best. Midway through the mass, the choir has a little solo going. They sing what seems to be ten straight songs. When the last song finally ends, the entire congregation is silent. You could hear a church mouse. Then my boys start clapping. They not only clapped for the choir, but they started saying, “Do it again, do it again.” Everybody in the church turns and looks up. When I say everyone, I mean everyone. The choir people found it to be cute, cause they had some fans. My wife and I, we did not find it to be so cute. We kind of slid down to the floor until the priest started talking, then we grabbed the boys and jetted.

So we took a little while off, but are back into it again. We have a solid string of consecutive weeks going again. We're not threatening Cal Ripken's streak yet, but it is a streak. The boys have been ok, but antsy. Then came yesterday. They were a bit of a handful, and most of my time was spent begging them to behave. After many bribes and threats, I finally just put my head in my hands. I was kneeling there thinking, God are you watching this? The action in the church slowed down, there was that church mouse silence, and Kyle said loudly, “Dad, it sucks having kids, doesn’t it?” I started laughing, and couldn’t stop. The kids, they found my laughter to be hysterical, so they started laughing. Some of the people around us were giving us the look, but I couldn’t stop. My wife was giving me the look too, but I still couldn’t stop. Mass was almost over, so we jetted. I know that I am supposed to be the adult here, but it was funny. We are going to continue our streak, but I need some help. Can my kids sit in a different pew? That would help a lot.