I Eat More Chicken Any Man Ever Seen

The 14th wedding anniversary was quite the special one for the little lady. To kick off the evenings festivities we had a guy come in to measure our countertops. Which you’d think might take 10-15 minutes at most, and you’d have thought wrong. First off we told the guy at the store that we wouldn’t be home until 4:30. When the appointment was confirmed the day before, we told the guy we wouldn’t be home until 4:30. Then the day of the measuring he calls me at 3:30, “I’m at your house!”. Uh, yeah dude, I have a meeting and have to pick up my knee-biter, so I’ll see you at 4:30, like we discussed. Then I get home at 4:30 and this jagoff doesn’t show up until 5:00. MFWTF?

After he gets there, I’m thinking he whips out a measuring tape and bickety-bam it’s done, not so much. He measures and measures and measures and then brings in this laser thing and measures some more. There are questions about backsplashes, overhang and sinks. All of which I am unprepared to answer, because this is the wife’s project. Per the handyman’s guide to procrastination, he goes to his truck five times, and each time Maggie says “Buh-Bye!”, then I explain that he’s coming back and she goes “No coming back!”

Finally, he rolls out and Amy rolls in with some KFC, and not just any old KFC, but absolutely free KFC thanks to their internet promotion. This high society, black tie affair has just been taken to another level. We inhale the dead bird, taters, slaw and biscuits like we were in training to be competitive eaters.

After Maggie went to bed the romantic evening continued down in the man cave. We cuddled up on the couch, stared into each others eyes, and settled in for a quiet evening of playoff hockey! I whispered little sweet nothings in her ear like “The last time I saw a fucking hook like that it was in a fishes mouth!” “C’mon Eaton force him to the corner and bend him over like the little bitch he is!” “Billy G is not my lover, unless he scores the game winner!”

Once the thrilling overtime game was in the books, we headed upstairs to find that Maggie had soaked through her diaper onto her bedding. We sprang into action like Dale Jr.’s pit crew. “You get the bed and I’ll get the kid. Grab me that fitted sheet! Diaper is on, jammies are in progress. Bed is ready! Drop the kid in the crib. Done! Go! Go! Go!”. We are a well oiled machine when it comes to late night bedding changes. I think Amy might have been a maid a La Quinta in her previous life. Of course it took us 8 years to get pregnant, so then again maybe not.

Well that about does it for the big 14th anniversary. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go practice my hospital corners and try to get the maid to fluff up my pillow. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Don't Take That Attitude to Your Grave

I don’t want to turn this forum into one of the many “Daddy” blogs that are out there, but since I spend over half of my free time servicing this kid, I do need to bring her into the mix every now and then.

Tuesday night, we’re in a nice deep sleep and we hear “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”, per the parental handbook I ignore it and hope that she goes back to sleep. A few minutes pass and then there it is again “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”. I go into her room and she is staring through her crib slats at the dresser where her shoes are sitting. “Daddy shoo-oo-oo-es!”. Really? It’s 2:30 in the morning and you woke me up because you wanted to wear your shoes? Then, I start projecting motivations on to her. Well, maybe she wants to be prepared in case there’s a fire, or maybe she plans on running a half marathon while we sleep. Here you go honey, just remember to shut the garage door when you leave.

Like most of my parenting decisions it ends up that I let her do what she wants and wait to see how it turns out. I realize that this is not the best strategy, but being a micro-managing parent really isn’t my style. Hey, if she wants to eat grilled cheese for dinner every night for a month, so be it, at least she’s eating something. There’s a reason the same four items are on every kids menu, it’s all they will fucking eat. Although, some places try to be clever and throw in some random uppity dish for the snobby parents. “Honey, you can have chicken nuggets, spaghetti, a hot dog, mac-n-cheese or a plate if unagi.” Really? My kid won’t eat a green bean, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to knock down a plate of eel rolls.

Then, last night we’re in her playroom and Amy tells her she can’t stand on the couch and in the blink of an eye she turns around with her chest out, head cocked to the side and she goes “WHY?”. There it was. Three little letters hanging in the air for an eternity. Her first “Why”. It wasn’t so much what she said, but how she said it. It had that white trash “You don’t know me!” attitude to it. She may as well have told my wife to go fuck herself with a Marlboro red dangling from her lips. The sarcastic asshole side of me that always questions authority was proud of her, but the parent side of me knew that we were on a slippery slope.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a grilled cheese to make and a toddler who is in training for next year’s Boston marathon.

Indian Outlaw

I wanted to let everyone know that Maggie is doing well and on her way back to a full recovery. In fact, we watched the critically acclaimed, Slumdog Millionaire together the other night. Maggie just loves the Oscar winners. I always say “Mickey Mouse or Schindler’s List?”, and she goes with Spielberg over Disney every time. It’s so cute the way she whispers in my ear “The list is life”, before she goes to sleep. I smile, shake my finger at her and say “Achtung Juden”, and then we just laugh and laugh.

Anyway, I thought that Slumdog Millionaire was as good as advertised, but it also reminded me that I never want to visit India. I’m ready to start mowing people down after going to Costco on a Saturday afternoon, so it would take me about five minutes in New Delhi before I snapped and started shooting anything that smelled like curry.

I guess it’s all about the lifestyle that you become accustomed to. Once you have certain luxuries, there’s no going back. Here is a short list of things that I have become accustomed to, that I now can’t live without:

1. An iPod - Being able to access every song my heart desires with the flick on my finger is super delicious. If I want to play “Fuck Tha Police” into “Friends in Low Places” into “Don’t Fear the Reaper”, while playing Flight Control I can make that happen.

2. HD - You just can’t appreciate Barbara Walter’s camel toe or how much make-up John Madden has on during MNF, without the clarity that HD provides.

3. High-Speed, Wireless Internet – If I can’t update my Facebook status while sitting on the toilet, then life isn’t worth living.

4. The Victoria Filet at Outback – My standard order goes as follows: The nine ounce Vicky fill-it, medium, yes I know that’s a hot pink center and its money. A house salad with mustard vinaigrette and a baked potato loaded up. Let’s get it on!

5. Texting – It seems like a waste of time to dial the phone just to tell my brother-in-law that Ryan Miller is a big pussy, but with texting not only can I call insult his favorite sports teams I can also include a picture of me wiping my ass with a Buffalo Bills t-shirt. Livin’ the dream!

Finally, I’ll leave you with my random thought of the week:
I was in the grocery store last weekend and I saw an NBA coloring book. The first thing that popped into my head, was that they should sell it with four extra large black crayons and one regular size white one.

Me: Honey, what color crayon do you want to start with?
Maggie: White!
Me: Ok, but remember it only works on the guys behind the 3-point line.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go put on a holocaust flick and break out the big black crayons.

Intergalactic Planetary

Well, well, well, I hope that most of you enjoyed the spring-like weather today. I was in the bowels of Reston Hospital submitting my child to the E.N.T. gods. As with most couples, my wife is the nurturer and I am assigned the dirty work. So Amy got to hold Maggie all day, then I came in and took her to the O.R.

Before I was able to go into the operating area I had to put on a rockin' see-through jumpsuit. As I was suiting up, I looked at Amy and said "How awesome would it be if I were naked underneath? Just walking around pediatrics in my see-through jump suit waving to everyone like Bozo the clown on Saturday Morning TV." She said, that would so not be awesome, and might even be a felony. So I aborted the plan and posed for some Beastie Boys inspired photos instead.



In the O.R. Maggie got the gas, but it wasn't sealed tight, so I got a nice inhalation of the magic vapors. As I was fighting through the knockout gas, this cougar of a nurse was pressed against me holding the mask and my hands were inches from her "area". Now, I'm trying my hardest to be an adult, but in my head I'm just thinking, aaaaaawkward! A few seconds later Maggie was on the table in la la land, the cougar nurse was setting up shop, and I was headed for the door.

I got some lunch with the wife, while Maggie got her surgery on. After an about 90 minutes she was done, and so were we. Time to roll on up to the room. WTF? This was no Loudoun hospital. No flat screens, no DVD players and no PS3's. Just a 15" TV and a VCR. A fucking VCR! How am I supposed to watch Survivor on this thing? C'mon Reston, let's get in the game. How is a child supposed to heal under these conditions? How can a child truly mend it's broken spirit watching 1980's VHS tapes of violent cartoons? The Horror! The Horror!

Well, that about does it from here. Maggie survived the long day, as did we. Amy is in for a rough night at the hospital, while I am at home writing to all of you. In a few days her drain will be out and the final healing will begin. Hopefully, by the time her birthday rolls around at the end of the month this will all be a distant memory, and everyone will be back in the land of rainbows and unicorns and see-through jump suits.

That's right, you know I kept that bad boy, and will be sporting it every year as a tribute to Reston Hospital!

Cause the music is live like an electric shock
I am known to do the Wop
Also known for the Flintstone Flop
Tammy D getting biz on the crop
Beastie Boys known to let the beat...... drop

It Cuts Like a Knife

The day we have dreaded is finally upon us. On Wednesday morning Maggie goes in for surgery to remove her cyst and part of the bone in her neck. Ouch! The weird thing is that she has no idea what is even in store for her. She’ll wake up in the morning thinking she is going to daycare and then bam! No breakfast, no morning routine, just whisked into the car, taken to the hospital and within an hour she’ll be prepped and ready for her procedure. It’s good that she doesn’t have to worry about it, and she won’t remember it as she gets older, but on some level that has to fuck with you a little bit.

Can you imagine if your spouse said, “Hey, I need to get something at Target, do you want to come?”? So you get in the car, and then they take you to a hospital, drug you and cut open your neck. The next time your spouse says “Hey, do you want to go to Target?” you’re going to be like; “Fucking nooooooo! In fact from now on I’m driving everywhere to avoid these little surgery games you like to play. I’m just glad you didn’t ask me to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods or I probably would’ve woken up neutered.”

On the upside, to make myself feel better for allowing a stranger to dice up my kid’s throat, I picked up an iPhone this week. If you need to alleviate any guilt for causing your kid’s pain, there’s an app for that. If you want to become more involved and actually assist the Dr. performing the surgery, there’s an app for that. If you want to see what the hot nurse looks like naked, well there’s no app needed for that, just a dirty mind, so I’m in luck.

Well, it’s about time for me to jump on the medical rollercoaster, I promise to keep my hands and feet inside the ride at all times and I’ll try not to vomit on the person next to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to put on some Bob Marley and download the fast forward 24 hours app. ---

Rise up this mornin',

Smiled with the rising sun,

Three little birds

Pitch by my doorstep

Singin' sweet songs

Of melodies pure and true,

Sayin', "This is my message to you-ou-ou:

"Singin’, "Don't worry 'bout a thing,

'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."