Technical Difficulties

I am writing this post using my wii because for some dumb reason, my laptop is not connecting to the internet. I think it has something to do with one of those automatic updates, and I am trying hard to reverse it, but who knows when or if I'll get it back. Stay patient with me please, I may have some interesting things for you when I get back up.

Thank you
The Editor.

Squizzle the Monkey

Not exactly sure where the weekend went, but it's gone. I called about a job but am still waiting to hear back. The Boss is finishing her last few shifts in Orem this week and by Friday, she'll be back in the valley. I've been fighting a neck ache from staring at the computer, a backache from mowing three lawns on Saturday for my nephews, and a headache from trying to once again reshift my visual focus. I had spent all the time since my transplant with the right side being dominant and I had pretty much stopped using the left eye. When I got my lenses, it took the better part of a week to get adjusted to stereo vision. And now I've spent a weekend with my left eye dominant. Yesterday, I just left my remaining lens out, and spent the day with ice packs on my neck and back.

Gripe. gripe, gripe. What else am I supposed to do with my time?

Today the Boss is off, and she's getting a solid dose of Squizzle. I think that at some point during her pregnancy, the Boss must have had some mutant ice to crunch because the boy is not normal. He may have devolved back to chimp form.

This morning, he climbed out of the tub by himself. I watched to see what he would do. He closed the lid on the toilet seat, climbed on it and from there he pulled himself onto the sink counter. Then he plopped his naked butt down in the sink, pushed the plug in, and turned on the water. This is not a large sink, mind you, but Squizzle seemed to think that it was his own private hot tub. Why not? He screamed like a soccer player trying to draw a yellow card when I finally jerked him out of there.

I thought I was going to have to lock the door to keep him out. His little stumpy legs would spin like he was running when I picked him up and as soon as I set him down, he'd peel out and head back for the bathroom. It reminded me of something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

Then this afternoon he pulled a doozey.

He came into the kitchen while the Boss was doing bills. She watched as he opened the dishwasher and climbed up onto the door. He then pulled out the bottom rack of the dishwasher, posted his right foot on the edge and hefted his chubby little chimp butt up onto the counter.

Not done yet. Not by a sight.

He climbed into the kitchen sink this time and once again turned on the water. He grabbed the drain plug from the window sill and stuck it in the other side of the sink. He sat there contentedly splashing away while the sink filled up. He slogged from sink to sink, laughing and having a grand time. After a minute this became boring and so he turned around, opened the cabinet and pulled out a measuring cup.

Who knew that a plastic measuring cup was the greatest toy in the history of man kind? Squizzle started laughing before he even got back in the sink. He filled the cup and then dumped it over his own head, soaking down the three square inches of himself that were not already waterlogged. And yes, he was still in his diaper. A few more dumps of the cup were fun, but then the boy discovered that using the cup to fling water across the kitchen floor was ten times more fun than just pouring it out.

I'm not sure were he would have taken it from there, but the Boss and I were no longer interested in waiting to find out. She pulled him out of the sink and I grabbed a mop.

Monster!!

I have caught him trying to open the dishwasher three times since then and caught him on the counter once. Life as we knew it is once again over.

And all I can think is what a crummy freaking time it is to not have health insurance. We haven't had a trip to the emergency room for some time, and with this many runts, we are well overdue. With my luck, I am certain that it will be ten minutes before the Boss's new benefits kick in.

That isn't all the Squizzle related funny, though. Yesterday Moe and Puzilla decided to dress him up in his church clothes and send him on "Dates" with their dolls. As they were negotiating the difficult process of selecting wardrobe and affixing it to unwilling participants, Moe fired off what may have been the line of the month.

Turning to Puzilla, she said, "We gotta do Squizzle first, because he's more stubborn...And he's real."

Yeah, he's real all right...A real pain in the...Uh, oh! Gotta go. Just caught him trying to power bomb from the top ropes...er...I mean the top of the sofa. And I'm pretty sure my headache is now turning into a stroke.

Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em on Ebay.

NOOOOOO!!!!!

So how am I supposed to judge a day like today?

Last night we went to Grandma's work party at Murray park. Free dinner is always a good thing, and the kids love the fishpond and other games. But I must admit that it is a mixed emotion to go each year. This work party was one of the last things we did together as a family before my brother was killed so there is always a bit of association there. And since they hold it around the same time every year, it serves as a reminder that the anniversary of his death is coming up again.

We could have had it a little easier with the dates on that one. His birthday is in January, and his death was on the same day of the month in August; so we get a fresh round of scab-peeling every half year or so. Not my idea of fun, but at least it's symmetrical.

For the last couple of days, my lenses have been bugging me and I had been hitting the 'roids hard to keep from having an allergic reaction. I put them in to go to the party and they were all right for the most part. Then on the way home, the right eye started burning and irritating the heck out of me. It felt like there was a piece of highway gravel stuck in there and it reminded me that I needed to get more lens solution. I asked the Boss if we could stop at Walmart and by the time we got there, I could hardly keep my eye open.

I learned very early on that with my crazy shaped corneas it is always a good idea to keep a complete lens kit on hand at all times because even my custom fit lenses can pop out. And they usually do so at the most inconvenient of times. So I pulled my case out and got ready to remove the irritated lens.

I had foolishly not grabbed my removal plunger, leaving me to try to pry the little sucker out with my fat fingers. While thus engaged, I felt the lens shift, and my eye started to feel better, so I put my case away and the Boss and I headed into the store.

Guess where the lens had "shifted"?

Now you may rightly say to yourself, "If he's so stinking blind, how is it that he did not immediately notice the absence of a lens?" There are two answers to this.

First, I did notice the decline in vision. In fact I said to the Boss, "This lousy lens isn't doing crapola right now. I can't see any better than without it" (perhaps I should have seen this as a warning sign).

And second,when my eyes get irritated like that, it doesn't matter if the lens is in or not, I don't see well. So it was not unusual for me to have bad vision and the thought that the lens was gone did not occur to me. I was too happy not to be still flushing boulders from under my eyelid. I ignored it until we got home and then I went to the bathroom to pull the lenses out for the night.

When the plunger came up empty, I started to royally panic. I made the Boss do a full scale examination to see if perhaps it had rolled up under one of the lids or behind the eye but it was long gone. We scoured the bathroom floor, the sink (I have an OCD tick that makes me put the plug down to ensure a dropped lens won't go down the drain), my clothes, the bedroom floor, outside to the car, the floor of the car, the seat, the dashboard... gone, baby.

Gone.

I have the hurting suspicion that sometime during the night a sweeper at Walmart dusted up a little blue plastic miracle without any idea of what it was. At that very moment I was probably curled into the fetal position feeling like I'd taken a shot to the "Solar Plexus" as the boys of professional wrestling euphemistically describe it. It was a long night filled with some really good panic attacks of the variety I ain't seen in years.

Then this morning, I got a call from the Boss. She had left early for work and on the way she had already gotten a replacement lens ordered (2 weeks to wait might seem like an eternity until I compare it to five years...then, not so much), had found a way to get it paid for, (You know who you are; Ooh Sainted One)and had the good news that I may have legitimate, full time employment. It would be mule work for a disaster cleanup company.

Now it's not writing but there is a steady paycheck involved and who of you that read this blog would argue that I, of all people, am not qualified to "Clean Up" after disasters? Might even help to rectify my "why me" attitude. I'm only blind, fat, broke and ugly. These people will have had their homes flooded, burned, or otherwise demolished. Is it wrong to assume that it would be good for me to see people more messed up than me?

All I know is a job is a job, and I'll take it if officially offered. Cash is cash, and I could sure use me some of that....

Something The Boy Said

Went to Orem to help the Boss with a little work project yesterday. The city of Orem held a fun run to benefit a police charity. It was called "Run a Crook Out of Town" and we set up a table at the start/finish line with ice water, treats, and coupons for free meals. As the primary sponsor (and the only one present) Village Inn got some nice publicity and community good will.

As a family, we got fed, the kids and I got to get out of the house, and the Boss got paid for three hours of work on her day off. That is a miracle that never would have happened under the Clown.

When we pulled into the parking lot, Peff scored big points with his Old Man when he gently requested that his mother move the car, for she had thoughtlessly parked closer to a red car than a blue one. According to the brainwashing propaganda (also known as the TRUTH!) that I endlessly indoctrinate him with, Red (school colors of the hated Utah Utes) is the color of evil. Blue (school colors of BYU) is the color of loyalty, courage and righteousness. It was a beautiful moment that would have brought tears to my eyes if my tear ducts hadn't been seared shut by overdoses of steroids.

Next up for the Peff? A t-shirt that reads "Me too, Max. Me too."

Of course his turn for the funny was not finished. He ordered the smiley-faced pancakes for dinner, and then asked his mother if he could "blind" his face. I figured he wanted to pluck the blueberries and eat them first, but he was actually after the salt to shake over them. Don't ask me, it's not my fault.

***Editor's Note to Self
I gotta find a way to keep this kid from going to work for the CIA....
***

At dinner, the kids were very good and on their best behavior; except for Squizzle who was so excited by the idea of a drink all for himself that he spent most of the time hooting and laughing and having a grand time. Luckily for us we were there between the lunch and dinner rushes so there was not a lot of others around to be annoyed.

And speaking of annoyed...

After we had finished dinner, I took the kids for a spin around the parking lot while the Boss took care of some work matters before the race. Having been pent up for an hour on their best behaviour, they decided that they needed to cut loose and make a little noise. Moe commented that Squizzle's happy chatter in the restaurant was funny at first but "Got a little annoying after a minute."

I agreed, of course, but the reference to annoyance caused me to foolishly bring up one of my favorite movie quotes from "Dumb & Dumber": "Hey! Wanna hear the most annoying noise in the world?" (Followed by high pitched, nasal squealing equivalent to nails on a chalkboard).

The kids, having never seen this movie, thought it was hilarious and immediately began to create their own unique, individual "most annoying noise in the world".

Most were high pitched wails or screeches of some order or another, and Puzilla in particular, figuratively shattered several storefront windows. Squizzle got back into the spirit adding his own distinctive "Yawp" and I soon found myself suffering from a head-splitting migraine of monolithic proportions.

Thus inspired by "art" I coined a new term...the "Symphannoy". I thought about calling it the "Annoychestra", but Symphannoy has a pop to it that I can't quite explain. It just sounds better.

In theory only, of course.

In practice, it probably rates as the aural equivalent to Peff's salt in the eyes. Whatever you call it, it is torture.

Water boarding, indeed. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Turn those terrorists over to my five kids for twenty minutes, and they'll gleefully spill their guts about where Bin Laden is.

Destroying Angels isn't just a clever nickname, folks.

What the Weekend Wrought...

Well, the weekend was not without its interesting moments, so I have some catching up to do. Saturday, the Boss got her permanent assignment from work, and she'll be working much closer to home starting on the thirteenth of this month. Not a moment too soon; says I. The Boss said she'll miss the folks in Orem, but she certainly won't miss the two hour daily commutes. She met with her supervisor who had many complimentary things to say, not the least of which was that he was unimpressed with most new hires ability to match his expectations, but that the Boss was already exceeding his hopes and was knocking it out of the park.

Those of us who love her are not the least bit surprised.

After she got done, we went to her sisters house where we tested the quality of their new home's construction by piling just short of fifty people onto the staircase to take a family photo or ten. As soon as they are finished, I'll post one for posterity sake. We had some more shots of the kids done, and having seen some of the advance snaps, I am very happy with how they turned out.

***Editor's Note
I will take this time to offer a shameless plug and laud the professional competency and excellent craftsmanship of our photographer, Phil Massey. Phil does great work at prices even my broke budget can afford. He has top of the line equipment and the know-how to use it. He does everything from bridal shots and weddings to family portraits, get-togethers and reunions; no group is too big. If you live in Utah, you may occasionally see some of his nature shots featured on local newscasts during the weather segments. In the coming days, I will be posting a link to his web page and contact information if you are in need of a photographer. There are other photogs out there, but only Phil Massey comes with the Fatdaddy Seal of Approval.
****

Monday, I went with my brother in law to mow a lawn for our nephews. They are out of town this week and asked if I'd cover their lawn mowing business while they were gone. They basically have one customer every day, it takes about an hour to do each one, and they are pulling in a little more than a hundred bucks a week. They have bought their own equipment, and are frankly making more money than yours truly.

Very impressive gig, and I am starting to wonder whether or not I ought to go into the amateur lawn care biz. One look at my own yard would probably dissuade any potential customers, I'm afraid. One of the downsides of getting my eyesight back was that I realized what a disaster my yard is. I had no idea that I'd been mowing weeds, not grass.

Pitiful.

Also on Monday, I got more writing assignments from my freelance gig and it looks like there is a chance that I might have enough work to make it worth my while. I still wish I could find someone willing to pay me three cents a word for this drivel however. Now that would be a sweet set up!

Yesterday was a loaded day that I think will require its own post. I will put that together later this afternoon after I get the kids up and rolling, so check back later in the day for some funny stories about our trip to the Boss's work.

Breathing Room

Well, I finished my last article at about two thirty in the morning. It would have been done by dinner time, but the Boss and I decided that we had to have some fun or we'd go Kazoo. The Boss's sister and her family are in town from New York, so we spent a few hours playing Mexican Train dominoes. I got destroyed; I never won a single round. Uncle Chris whooped all our butts.

Peff and Beckett played Mario Party on the Wii for a while, and I once again forgot to ask Beckett the secret of his NCAA prognostication prowess. If nothing else, I fully intend on giving him a serious case of knuckle-nuggies to see if I can't get some of his elfish magic to rub off.

The Boss's sister who lives in California is also in town this week, marking the first time in about three years that all the sisters are in the same place at the same time. We have scheduled a photographer to come take a family portrait on Saturday night as work schedules, arrival and departure times, and other activities mean that we'll all be together for about three hours on Saturday night. Probably a good idea to have a camera there for that one, huh?

The Boss is still loving her new employment and the feelings are mutual. She was quite flattered (and equally uninterested) when she was told by a contact from the clown's place that several of the other local owners had inquired as to her interest in returning to the clown's services under their franchises. One inquiry was regarding her interest in a promotion to a multi-store supervisory role.

I suppose that if the dump truck full of money they backed up to the door was large enough, she might at least give it some consideration, but she's definitely moved on. The work at Village Inn is so much more laid back and so much more suited to her personality that it would take some heavy duty pay increases and probably some lawyers writing up contractual stipulations (such as no phone calls between the hours of 8 and 8, if you please) for her to even give it more than a thought.

It is flattering, though. At least someone in that company appreciated her talents.

Anyway, the big girls are off at cooking camp. The Boss's mom found it and it was a cheap and fun form of summer-get-out-of-the-house entertainment. They go in the morning and are home by lunch time. Yesterday they made pizza, including crust from scratch, guacamole, salsa and homemade ice cream in a bag. They poured the homemade mix into a small Ziploc, and then put that into a gallon Ziploc full of ice chunks and rock salt and then told them to shake the heck out of it. Apparently it works pretty well.

Moe spent the better part of three hours delivering the play by play, including details about each recipe, which she recited from memory. Sometimes that kid scares me. For Haggis, it marks the third straight week she has been at one camp or another. Two weeks ago it was Oakcrest, a camp for LDS girls from all over everywhere. Last week was our local ward's young women's camp and now she's spending her days at cooking camp (even though that one isn't a sleep over camp). She came home from girls camp last week as filthy as a sinner in church. I didn't know girls could get that dirty.

When I was a kid, I once went to Yellowstone with the scouts. We called one of the younger kids "Baskin-Orson" because dude had twenty one flavors staining his shirt by the end of every day. Haggis might not have hit twenty one, but she still managed to get as grimy as I thought any girl could. That child plays hard, and no mater what I think about her attitude when it comes to helping around the house, she puts everything she has into having fun. I think this month has been good for her self esteem. She seems happier than she has been, and she has friends all over every where. Now if I could only keep her off of facebook.....

Well, better go. Squizzle has decided that an empty milk jug makes the perfect club and I get the impression that he's going on a Zoe hunt....

Write, Write, Write...Fight, Fight, Fight

Sorry about a small delay in posting again. Judging from my hit counter, only about four of you noticed anyway. It's all my fault. I was really good about hitting this every day until my eyes came back. Then I started to see how much I had to do and I got lazy about my writing.

Then this week, my part time work got suddenly nice and busy. With the end of the month approaching, they started to have some difficulty with other writers not having the time to deal with their workloads, so I got the spill-over. It was great, but I got a little brain-fried. Can you believe someone is paying me three to five cents a word for the same stuff that I used to put out just for grades? And the same stuff I dish out here for free?

I cranked out a about a dozen 350 word snaps for a sports site and a mental health blog, so it was the kind of stuff that is right up my alley. Sports and nut jobs. I might as well have just posted a link to this blog....

I suppose that it is due to the down number of visitors, but no one has yet commented on the new look of the blog. I was giddy when I saw the flames template. Now I can watch my blog, like my life, go up in smoke and flames. If you are not a fan, bear with me, I'll get bored sooner rather than later and change it.

Again.

Couple of funny things. We used one of the last of my freebie redbox coupons last night on Percy Jackson. The books were great, and the movie was good, it was just nothing like the book. It will be interesting to see how they resolve some of the plot conflicts that the movie has with the books because as it stands now, there are some major differences. Anyway, right at the start of the movie, Zeus accuses Poseidon of having his (Poseidon's) son, Percy, steal his (Zeus's) lightning bolt. The two of them are standing toe to toe and glaring at one another as thunderclaps are menacing the cloudy sky. Then Peff stood up from where he was sitting on the floor and starts jumping up and down shouting "Fight!Fight!Fight!...Fight!Fight!Fight!"

Classic. I'm pretty sure that it is a Manly Code obligation that if you see a fight about to happen, you should gather any and all other males around the combatants while chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Peff clearly has this in his blood.

As the Boss says, "He's a boy."

And speaking of boys, Squizzle has been a busy little chipmunk of late. He says about ten different words, from "Dog-Dog" which can mean either hot dog, or Zoe, depending on who or what happens to be around at the time (right now, Zoe is. We are watching her until Thursday) to his current favorite "Num-Num" which stands in for anything he wants to stuff in his cry-hole. He is also fond of "Ball" which is an actual ball, an onion, orange, apple, or anything else remotely globe shaped that he can get his hands on. He has also discovered how to open the dishwasher AND the freezer which brings up a whole new set of fun and amusement.

And here I was thinking that when the kids start school this Fall and take Peff with them to kindergarten, I might get some quiet time to get some work done.

Ha.

Ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

Plop...Plop

(These are the sounds of my mother and aunt collectively laughing their heads off)

Well, enough for now, it's close to the end of the month deadline and I'm thinking I might get a little more work thrown my way.

Enjoy!

The Problem of Pain

Spent most of yesterday at the employment center learning all the new tricks for resume writing. Did you know that it is now accepted practice to not list references on a resume? The theory is that if an employer wants them, they'll ask. Who'd a thunk it?

They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".

This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".

We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.

Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!

Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.

***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****

I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.

Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).

Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"

Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.

When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.

Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.

Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?

Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".

In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.

Who didn't see that one coming?

Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.

Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?

We're busy.

One Down...

Woke up this morning to find that the job bunny had left me an assignment in my email box last night. My first one. I had to write a 300-350 word article for a Canadian city's tourism blog. It was a little weird expounding the virtues of a travel destination that I have never traveled to. Then again, I suppose that I did write the occasional paper in college on books that I hadn't actually read, so it isn't THAT much of a stretch.

***Editor's Note
There is a reason that I got a Bachelor of Science in English as opposed to a Bachelor of Arts in English.
Officially it was because I couldn't clep my Mandarin. Rather than add another three semesters to my graduation date, my advisor just switched me to a B.S. instead which required no language credits.
Unofficially it is because a BS degree seemed so much more appropriate for me; personally. What I mean is...am I, or am I not the Dark Prince of Bull Shhh...tuff?
***

Anyway, I'm not yet familiar with the rules and regulations regarding what I write for them and what I can and cannot copy or link to; so for now we'll say that I wrote a lovely little piece on the fishing in a small, local lake and that pending editorial review and client acceptance, I'm now ten dollars and twenty three cents richer than I was when I woke up.

Woo Freaking Hoo! Save me a spot at the high roller table, boys; the dice are a' calling my name!!

Yeah. Or not. Ten bucks for an hours worth of writing isn't a bad deal,really, and I think that once I get used to the system and the style guides, I'll crank them out quicker still.

It ain't much but its a start.

I spent yesterday at LDS employment looking for a full time gig. Not looking so hot. I thought it was rough when doctors said "Wow."

Every time I explain my situation and why there's a five year gap in my employment history, people say "Gee. That's just terrible. How do you keep going? I sure wish I had some way to help, but..."

You and me both, buddy. Tomorrow I go back to rework my resume and then next week I go for two days of interview and networking skills. I've already taken classes on this stuff before I graduated, so I'm expecting it to be mostly review, but I hope that I'll get something new out of it. If nothing else, they'll keep me too busy to mope about being a shiftless bum.

Well, it's the Boss's day off today and she's just waking up after closing last night. Time to go run some errands. More tomorrow.

So Where Are They?

The Boss was up at four this morning to get to work by five. Being the loving and kind husband that I am, I rolled over and went back to sleep for her. Which was fine for about an hour or so. Then Peff woke me up.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Haggis says there are monsters under the bed."

"Well, Haggis is full of it."

"Really?"

"Really." I said, waking up a little. I have a stock in trade answer for this one that I developed when the girls were toddlers and very concerned about the presence of monsters in their rooms. It worked for them, why not Peff?

"I can personally guarantee that there are no monsters in this house, son. When your mother and I bought it, we paid extra for state of the art monster detection and repellant systems. They are imbeded in the insulation between the walls. No monster could be in this house."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. I looked and there was nothing under there."

"I'm thrilled my money was well spent, though I'm beyond curious as to why you are waking me up at the 'plumber's crack of dawn' to tell me there are no monsters in the house. Go back to sleep."

"Um, Dad?"

"WHAT?!"

"How do you turn the monster alarm off? I wanna see one."

And that, my friends... is one more example of the differences between boys and girls.

I reviewed my "Manly Manual" just now and sure as heck; Age (6), section (2), subheading (a) reads:

"Monsters are the end all-be all of cool. You gotta see one."

Guess it's time to dust off that "Gremlins" DVD, huh?

"Deagle, Deagle, Deagle...."

Good News for the Boss

Well, the Boss gets some good news today.

I found a job.

I have been contracted by an Internet company to do freelance writing/marketing. I am no longer a shiftless layabout. Well....that's not true.

Let's just say that I'm not unemployed any more. It probably won't be a whole lot of money, but it is sure as heck more than I'm making now. It's piecework that pays by the word; some of it for publication on client blogs and websites, but mostly as "keyword" writing designed to boost search engine priority for a company's website.

I think that it is a good opportunity to get some experience, develop my writing/resume skills and there are even some chances to move up the ladder into editing and the like. It would appear that my college degree will be worth more than a high school diploma after all!

Another bonus is that it can be done from home so I don't have to worry about daycare for Squizzle when Peff goes to school. Also it is the kind of work that I can do on the side of something else. I won't earn enough that the Boss should start drafting her retirement notice, but it is certainly a step up from where we currently are.

Maybe soon I'll be able to afford paying attention. In the mean time keep me in mind if you come across any other prospects.

Sinner

Backlash duly noted.

I offer my heartfelt apologies.

I didn't mean to abandon you all, but that's what happened anyway. I got some eyesight back and discovered just how many things had piled up on my need-to-do-list. I have spent the last two weeks cleaning carpets, washing walls, painting, cleaning the garage, doing yard work, sorting laundry, cooking all the meals, sending Haggis off to camp.... It's astonishing how many chores piled up.

I didn't realize how little spare time an unemployed bum can have when he hasn't been able to see for five years.

So where to start?

I guess I'll start with the Boss. She has been at her new job for a couple of weeks, and she loves it. Her supervisors think she is the "Chosen One", the customers take an immediate shine to her, and her co-workers are already in love.

Can't say I blame them.

The slower pace and attention to personal service are right in the Boss's wheelhouse. Her people skills are her strength, and if she has a minute to stop and chat she'll charm the heck out of you. After a week; her employees would have killed for her. By now they'd go to the moon without space suits if she asked them to. Again, this surprises no one who knows her. At the clown company they had begun to sacrifice service in a quest for speed (they aren't the same thing) so this return to a more pleasant atmosphere is just the balm she needed.

It's not perfect, though. She is training in Orem which is an hour long commute, so the ten hour shifts that she works actually equal twelve hours away from home. It can take a toll, but it's still fewer hours than she was spending at the clown's. Plus they don't call her when she's not at work. No more text messages every two minutes. No more three A.M. phone calls. No more late night trips to re-demonstrate something to the same people for the thirtieth time (See; even the complaints turn into positives). The commute does take it's toll, and the gasoline bill is crippling our budget. The promise is that she'll get transferred to someplace here in the valley within the next month or so, and that will solve that problem.

I do miss the free food from the clown but we have gotten to try a few of the pies and they are better than cheeseburgers by a sight. In all, I'd say even this former blind man can see we made a good decision.

On to the next...

I've been fixing up the things that were neglected by my bad eyes. Last week it was scouring the upstairs rooms. There is a bedroom, an office/toyroom, and a bathroom. The toys got sorted and reduced to a couple of totes. The bookshelves got a makeover and the desk decluttered. Windows got washed and carpets cleaned. The big girls room got a fresh coat of paint. It went from yellow to purple.

When I was blind, I had picked a color that I thought was kind of a light lavender. But when I started to roll it on, it was about ten times darker than that. It looks like the "artist formerly known as Prince" did the interior decorating. If Grimace ever goes in there and shuts his eyes, we will never find him. It is VERY purple. I am not a fan, but the girls love it and so does the Boss. I'm just glad that it's going to be hard to mark it up with crayons.

I replaced the busted ceiling fan with one of the light fixtures that Beak gave us, and by the time I touched up the paint in the hallway and cleaned the bathroom, I was into the third day of that little project.

Cleaning the garage and mowing the lawn took another day, and we also went to celebrate the fourth over at the Boss's sisters. We had a BBQ and did fireworks, much to the delight of Squizzle. He thinks that the "Snap-it" pops that you throw on the ground are the coolest thing ever. I wish that I'd had a video camera because watching him wind up to throw one hard enough to get it to pop was hilarious. He'd toss them as hard as he could and then he'd growl at them if they didn't pop. If they did pop, he'd clap and giggle and run in circles. He never was able to figure out why they didn't work on grass, though.

One day, we went with the Boss to Orem for a manager meeting, and while she worked, I drove around the backstreets of town to get a little driving practice in. I am the world's most cautious driver on my most rebellious days, but driving for the first time in five years added to the caution. It didn't help that I am neither licensed or insured, so if I had been pulled over it would have been off to jail for sure. But hey, I got to practice sometime and by doing it an hour away from home most of my pedestrian friends and family were kept relatively safe.

While I am not quite ready for driving tests, I am past ready for some employment. I have been spending the vast majority of my time looking for a job. Newspaper classifieds, LDS employment, Utah department of workforce services, you name it, I've searched it. I ask for applications at every business we cross, and I've filled out a hundred of 'em. I even have two resumes, one for English degree related jobs (which is not getting very much use, I'm afraid) and one for warehouse/sales/production/anything else-I-might-be-qualified-for jobs. So far all I have to show for a months worth of applying is one rejection email. I haven't even got an interview yet. I'm getting desperate. It annoys me that I spent all that time and money on a college education and I'm going to wind up in the same joe-jobs I was in before.

If I'm lucky.

Again, any leads anyone has would be appreciated.

Speaking of unemployment, Uncle C finally ran out of time with Jordan District and they laid him off. I figure the whole public eduacation system in this state is going to implode one of these days. I still can't figure out why kids that live within blocks of one another are getting different amounts of spending. The first thing I'd do if I got put in charge would be to get per-pupil spending equal for all districts in the state. It's asinine that a kid in Sandy should get more spent on their education than a kid in Carbon county (Sorry, I'll get off my soapbox).

The real crusher here, other than Uncle C needing a new job, is that I no longer watch Reaggers and Bub, so the funny stories seem to have dried up considerably. That's another reason I've been a while without a post, the funny has deserted me in favor of quiet desperation. But then, right as my mother was informing me of my growing line of hate-mail and chastising me for not posting, something funny happened.

My brother just bought a new car. He picked us up one night for a family get-together when the Boss was at work. We were talking about buying cars when I reiterated my opinion the the dodge rotting in my driveway represented the single worst decision I had ever made. From the back seat, Puzilla's tiny voice piped up, "Don't worry daddy. You're still young. You've got plenty of time to make worse choices than that!"

Can't live with 'em; can't sell 'em on e-bay. Where's the Tylenol?

School's Out!!

Well, we got a happy little surprise when the Clown company decided to buy the Boss out of her two weeks notice. It's funny because just yesterday morning the Boss said to me, "I wish I had thought to plan a little vacation time in between the two jobs so I could recharge."

Well, then! Wish in one hand...get it granted in the other. Our incredible string of fortunate bounces continues. I know who it is that gets the credit, and I will be eternally indebted and infinitely grateful. But to be honest, it's making me a little nervous.

Because of this great news, I will be in and out of the house for a bit, so expect sporadic posting at best. I'll try to keep this updated at night as best I can.

In the meantime, Happy Father's day to all the dads, and have a great weekend!!!!

An Alternator with Fava Beans and Chianti?

If I did not know better, I would swear that my wife is the Hannibal Lechter of automobiles.

The new van wouldn't start this morning, necessitating another trip to autozone. Hopefully it's just a low battery charge, but with my luck...

On the good side, I think that I'm going to nickname the new car Clarisse.

"You might think you're a sports car, with your fancy wheels and V6 engine; but you're really just a bad oil change and a lower wheelbase away from being a poor, tan, station wagon! Phtppppphtpphtphhht!"

Laugh or cry. I'm kinda on the edge.

Yesterday's post reminded me of a couple of classic family stories that ought to be recorded for posterity. It was the trip to the buffet that triggered 'em.

The first and foremost was a trip that we took right before the Boss and I got married. My brother had just gotten home from his mission and with my grandparents in town, mom and dad took everybody out to eat. The Boss had just had her wisdom teeth pulled and was not in much condition for an all-you-can-eat, but came with us anyway.

It was a nice dinner with lots of jokes and stories, and we were all having a good time. My brother and I got up to go get ice cream. When we got to the dessert bar, there was this little, old man who looked to be about a thousand and ninety years old, holding a cane and an empty bowl. He had this frustrated look on his face and either out of plain frustration or because he mistook us for employees, he shouts at us, "You wanna tell me just where in the hell they put the damn rice pudding?!"

I fell on the floor; I was laughing so hard. My brother kept it together long enough to help the old geezer out, but by the time we got back to the table, neither one of us could control ourselves. When we told every one else, the whole table was in hysterics.

To this day, I have no idea why that old man asking for "Damn rice pudding" was so utterly hilarious, but it was. More than fifteen years have passed and we cannot have any family function involving dinner without someone asking if there will be "Damn rice pudding" on the menu. Whatever you do, don't call it rice pudding. That just wouldn't be right. Everyone knows there is no rice pudding but "Damn rice pudding".

The other story is just as good. Right after my brother got married, we had one great mass family vacation to Florida and Disney world. Haggis was maybe one or two, and we flew fourteen people to Orlando. It was one of those unforgettable trips that become eternal legend.

Just to give you an idea of how great a trip this was, we flew from Salt Lake to Orlando on a red-eye, and sitting right next to my dad was none other than Bill Goldberg and Diamond Dallas Paige from professional wrestling fame. These were the days before cell phone cameras but Dad did get DDP to autograph a barf-bag. Says he was one of the nicest guys you'd ever meet.

And the trip only got better from there.

But for this post's purpose, I'll just tell about our trip to the Crystal Palace Buffet in Magic Kingdom.

Now, my grandmother started a tradition long before our trip to Florida when we went to a buffet in Jackpot, Nevada. During that meal, Grandma came back from the dessert bar (Sorry, this was pre-Damn rice pudding days) with a plate full of cookies. You have to understand that my grandmother is a woman of great presence, but small stature. So we were all kind of amazed at the quantity of dessert she was planning on putting away.

We had no idea.

A few minutes later, she excused herself from the table and we were stunned to see nothing on her plate but crumbs. When she came back with another stack of cookies, curiosity got the better of manners and someone jokingly asked her where she was putting all the cookies.

"In my purse", she said, pulling out a ziplock baggie now half full of chocolate chip deliciousness. "I bring a ziplock, and take a dozen or so home with me so grandpa can have them for late night snacks."

Well this was far too practical an idea for everyone at the table to NOT adopt, so when we went to the buffet from then on, we always had a "Bag man" for a little take home treat.

Well, the food at Disneyland is...um...pricey. Having a sugar pick-me-up in a purse was a really good idea. So when we ate at the Crystal Palace we made my sister M the "bagman".

To avoid ostentatious displays of greed everyone would get one extra cookie when making a trip to the buffet. It became a bit of a game. We'd go "secret agent" while casually slipping M the loot for storage.

The giggles were getting louder and louder, and to be honest, a dozen people each nicking a couple of extra cookies really does put a dent in a buffet line. By the time we filled the bag, we noticed our waiter was studying us suspiciously. The giggling stopped, and we all started wondering at the ethics of covert cookie capers. We finished eating and everyone was nervously teasing M that if the "heat" came, we'd run interference while she made a break for the door.

Imagine our surprise when the waiter motioned for the manager to come over and then whispered something in his ear while gesturing in our direction. Now I was actually sweating.

The manager walked over to us, cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me a moment."

Everyone froze.

"Were you the people looking for a mail drop to send postcards home? The waiter wasn't sure if it was you or another family that had asked."

Everyone busted up laughing. "Yeah, that was us."

"I'd be happy to take those for you and see that they are mailed."

"Thanks a bunch. The postcards are right here in M's purse...um...."

Needless to say, covert cookie operations were red lighted from that point on.

Now I gotta go, the Boss just pulled bananna bread from the oven and it's calling my name.

The Wrath Of Fatdaddy

"From Hell's own heart, I stab at thee!"

Wow. Am I really quoting "Khan" from Star Trek?

If "high school me" were here he'd be kicking my butt. Since when was I able to quote Star Trek? That's the kind of crap that'll bring the shades of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan snooping around here looking for my Man Card.

Nevertheless, it's the thought that came to mind on Saturday night at ten when the Boss got a call from one of her piece of dirt managers, who waited until then to tell the Boss that she wasn't going to come in for her three am shift.

Guess who had to go work her sixth shift of the week at a job she should no longer give a fat rat's patoot about? Nothing like one last cheap shot from the ingrates, huh? It was a real slap in the Boss's face and I don't mind saying it made me mad enough to spit. I told her she should have called her "Idiot" supervisor up and give him a taste of what she's had to deal with.

The conversation could go like this:

Boss: "Yeah, I know it's ten at night and you're getting ready for bed and you probably worked today already, but I don't have anyone to cover my closing shift. I think if I were you I'd set my alarm for about 2:30"

The Idiot: "No way am I doing that for you. You can go to Blazes"

Boss: "Sorry, pal, I gave Blazes my two weeks notice. Fire me if you want. Welcome to the world you created. Enjoy."

The Idiot: "Gee. This really is a crappy thing to expect of someone. Who knew?"

This is why they are lucky it was the Boss they employed instead of me. I'd have had that conversation.

But because the Boss is the compassionate woman she is... she went to work on two hours sleep and pulled her second nine hour shift of the day.

Savor the flavor, Clowns. It'll never happen again.

In fact, I have a feeling that about a month from now there is going to be significant weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth when the Clowns above and below realize just how much the Boss was shielding them from each other. By then, she'll be too far away to hear it, and no longer paid to care. I told you I can be bitter, but Karma can be a real beast.

Just ask my Cubbies.

They keep finding new and unusual ways to break my heart. Yesterday, I watched Ted Lilly take a no-no into the bottom of the ninth inning. I don't know when the last time a Cubbie threw a no hitter was, but the TV said there hadn't been one at Wrigley since before I was born. I got really exited as Lilly mowed down the eighth and called my mother to make sure she was tuned into something good actually happening to the Cubbies.

I mean, come on. I've been on a real roll with the Boss finding a new job, my eye sight returning...Miracles have been popping up like daisies.

"Mom!", I shouted into the phone. "Are you watching the Cubs game? Lilly's dealing a no-no!"

"I'll turn it on", she said.

Two pitches into the inning, Lilly tosses a looping off-speed pitch that I could have hit with my contacts out and it gets drilled into short center.

No-no abolished. "From Hell's heart..." I know, I know. I get it.

Five little words.

Loopy pulled Lilly for "Rocket-fuel Marmol", who immediately proceeded to walk the guy representing the winning run, balk the runners to second and third, and try to throw the game away.

I turned to the Boss, who was napping on the couch, and said, "Only the Cubbies could get within three outs of a no-hitter and then proceed to lose."

I called Mom again. "They will..."

"...break your heart!" she finished.

In spite of my bitter sorrow over the lost no-no, they managed to at least squeek out the win.

I guess I was due for one more miracle last week after all.

In spite of those two sour notes, I have to say it does not suck to be me right now. We went to dinner with my parents on Saturday night between the Boss's eighteen hour shifts. We went to the Buffet to celebrate the Boss's new job and the return of my vision. It was a very good evening. The kids even minded their manners.

I gotta say, you have know idea how trippy it is to be able to see street signs and pedestrians again. I even snuck in a joy ride around the block on Friday night.

Just because I could. I kept pointing to signs and reading them. The poor Boss was subjected to me reading inane things for the whole ride home from the doctor. It reminded me of when Peff learned his letters and annoyed us for a month by reading every letter he saw. Remember "Dad has two heart attacks"?

Look at this! Did you see that? When did they put that there? When did they tear that down?

I saw mountains and clouds, and the leaves on trees. I saw the TV from the couch instead of three feet away. I saw that the Rockband game I've been playing for a few years has little gray lines that mark the beat for you. I didn't know that.

I saw that my carpet is far dirtier than I thought, and I saw that what I thought was a grass lawn is really a mowed down weed patch. I also saw that I might have done the world's worst paint job on my living room. I can't believe the Boss has put up me doing such "fractional donkey"(think about it, you'll get it) work for so long.

"What, did a blind man paint this room?" Um, funny you should ask. I think I have some work to do. Or redo.

I saw the Boss is still as good looking as she was fifteen years ago, and I saw Squizzle clearly for the first time in his life. Thank heaven he looks like his mother.

I've seen a lot this weekend. It ain't perfect. The lenses irritate my eyes after about eight hours, and I have some glare in the left eye, but it's so much better than what it was, I don't care.

Hell can stab at me all it wants.

It's good to be me.

How Time Doth Fly

After we got done informing Village Inn that the Boss would be accepting their offer, we decided to do something fun with the kids to celebrate two good things in one day. So we got everyone dressed and loaded up the van.

We first took a rare visit to the dollar movies to see "Diary of a Wimpy Kid". Um...I guess we got what we paid for. Not my favorite movie but the kids seemed to enjoy it. If I had done the screenplay, I'd have spent more time exploring the relationship between the kid and his dad, who seemed to be at about the same maturity level. They had a shot to make a really good movie but missed it in favor of cheap jokes.

After the movie, we headed downtown to see all the construction that is going on and to take a tour of the Conference Center and Temple Square. I had never been on a tour of the conference center even though I've been there several times, so I had no idea there was a huge garden on the roof.




From the pictures, you'd never guess all that grass and wildflowers and even fully grown pines are on top of the building that the kids are sitting in front of in the other picture. Inside is just as amazing; it seats more people than Energy Solutions Arena down the street where the Jazz play.

There is also a large collection of religious art, including the Arnold Freiberg paintings of scenes from the Book of Mormon. I could have spent all day looking at the one of Abinidai. What a stud. The Lord commanded him to call a wicked King to repentance. The King rejected him and sent him into exile. Then the Lord told Abinidai to return and again preach to the King. Abinidai obeyed, even though he knew it was a death sentence. He stood and testified of the coming of Jesus Christ and even while he was burned at the stake, he obeyed the Lord and taught.

I have to admire a man who does what he knows is right, even if he doesn't understand why. Without Abinidai, Alma doesn't repent; without Alma, the Book of Mormon is a lot shorter read. Abinidai had no idea of the effect he had on the world when he died. Bet you he's glad he was obedient now, huh?

After the Conference Center tour, we went across the street to Temple Square. The Boss and I thought it would be fun to tell the kids about our wedding day and how things have changed over the years. We took some pictures, and I spent some time harassing the Mandarin speaking sister missionaries. Temple Square is about the only place I get to practice anymore. At least I can still carry on a conversation, even if some of the vocabulary is gone.


Finally, we went to the store to try a new activity we call "2 dollar dinner". You go into the grocery store and each member of the family is given two dollars to pick an ingredient. Then you have to go home and plan a menu and everyone helps cook something that hopefully turns out edible.

We let the kids choose without interference, starting with Peff. The Boss and I picked last so we could make sure we could finish something edible, and we decided that Squizzle's two bucks would go to double any ingredient that was key to the menu.

Peff picked a head of lettuce and two cans of chili. Puzey went next and got three kiwi fruit and a can of mandarin oranges. Then Moe, who selected three plums and a zucchini (getting scary, ain't it?). Haggis decided that with all the fruit, she had the makings of dessert pizza so she got two containers of yogurt and a package of cream cheese. Squizzle got more lettuce and some tomato, while the Boss picked a bag of store brand Frito's and a package of sugar cookie mix. I got kool-aid and cheese (OK, so I went over the two buck mark a little, sue me).

We got home and Moe sauteed her zucchini, the Boss made sugar cookies and mixed the lettuce and corn chips. Haggis cut up the tomato and grated the cheese while Peff and Haggis opened all the cans. The boss heated the chili for Frito pie with cheese, tomato, and lettuce. For dessert, we mixed the yogurt and cream cheese and spread that on the sugar cookies which were then topped with plum, kiwi, and mandarin oranges for mini fruit pizza.

Not a bad anniversary, considering that from movies to tours to dinner, we spent less than twenty five bucks.

Well, enough for now, I've got to get ready to go to the eye doctors. By the next time I post, I may not need to magnify the screen by 200% to see it.

Wish us luck and hope we haven't emptied our quota of good things this week!

Where's Your Deliverer Now?

Apparently at Village Inn.

After much prayer and study and discussion, the Boss is telling the Golden Arches to fly the proverbial kite. Work conditions had been steadily declining ever since a new supervisor was hired to oversee her store. I do not use the word "oversee" lightly.

This miserable son of a beggar has reduced my sweet wife to tears so often that I can hardly stand to think about it. After fifteen years of dedicated service to that company, she had always been a favored employee. She rose on merit and did everything they asked her to. Her sales were always on the increase, but when this no-talent hack of a clown got promoted he decided that she wasn't what he wanted.

Suspiciously, about a week after she told them that she could not go to a week long training course at Hamburger U because of the uncertain condition of my health, she stopped getting compliments and started getting write-ups instead. He wrote her up because even though she met his stated goal for labor costs, she had failed to read his mind and know that he was really expecting her to hit a percentage lower. He didn't bother to tell her this, he just expected her to guess, and wrote her up anyway.

That was when we knew it was time to go. We weren't alone. There has been a mass Exodus of managment ever since this idiot took over, and I have a suspicion that the Boss may be the straw that breaks this Donkey's back. I would love to think that us leaving would cost him his job. To be honest though, neither the Boss or I care. I stand with my favorite "Joe Vs the Volcano" reference.

When Joe quits his job, he tells his boss, "I ought to rip your throat out. But I'm not going to. Because instead; I'm leaving you here...And what could be worse than that?"

So yesterday, she was in a meeting with the Idiot, and he wrote her up again, for some vague failure to meet his impossible expectations. Talk about bad timing. Ten minutes before he darkened her doorway, Village Inn had called the Boss and offered her a position that starts at the same wage she's getting from the Clown after fifteen years.

She came home and we prayed about it and got a sure answer before we could even get to the Amen.

I don't know where I am going to wind up when all is said and done, but I do know this. The Boss is going to be selling pies instead of fries; and I have eaten the last Big Mac of my life. I am a bitter, bitter grudge holder. I have not set a foot inside a Macey's grocery store in ten years. When I quit that dump, I washed my hands of it. I don't care how good their caselot is, I'll never shop there again. Same thing for Mickey D's. My kids have had their last happy meal.

And with that, Joshua blew his horn, and on the fifteenth anniversary of the worst decision the Boss ever made, she had finally removed herself from Egypt and the cruel lash of the task master's fries.

Happy anniversary, baby.

Free at last, Free at last.

WoooooooooooHoooooooooooooooooo!

Now What?

My eyes might be on the upswing, but it's been a bad week for technology. I left my cell phone on the counter near a glass of ice water, and when I went to pick it up, the condensation had soaked it. I was told by several people that if you put a wet cell phone in a bowl of rice, it will dry it out and it will work again, but all the rice did was bloat the battery up. So now I have no cell phone.

Same day, I was typing a post and Squizzle was doing his usual "how can I annoy Dad while he's trying to type...I know, I'll try and hit the keyboard!" act. And so he did. And the screen froze. I took out the battery, plugged it back in, and tried to turn it on, but when I went to type in the password only half the keys worked.

I still need to send it in to get the screen fixed anyway, and we knew we had five kids when we bought it so we got the two year, "don't ask, don't tell" warranty where it is covered for anything up to and including dipping it in a bathtub. So I wasn't too upset.

Until I realized that I don't have a back up disk of all the pictures that I have been taking for the last year. I know when I finally send this beastie in to the repair shop the first thing they are going to do is erase everything. So I was no longer so sanguine about it.

Plus, I started thinking about not being able to post, read the paper, etc, etc. Not so happy.

Then this morning Haggis asks, "Can I play on the computer?"

I've had a headache all day so as sarcastically as possible I say, "Sure the password is ********. If you can get it on let me know, but since half the keys are frozen I have a suspicion that I'm going to be hearing you cry in a minute."

I went back to picking up the living room. Ten minutes later, Haggis says, "I got it!"

Stunned, I came into the kitchen, and she had left clicked the mouse, pulled up a list of accessibility features and added a "type without a keyboard" feature. I had never seen that on a computer before, but when I entered the password, it worked. I was about to blast a backup disk when I realized that upon logging in, all the keys had started working again.

I have no idea why that happened, but since this family seems to be on a bit of a roll regarding Divine Intervention, I have no choice but to subscribe to the theory that some one up there is looking after me.

Modern technology indeed.

I'm just glad I can post again. I was already testing the Internet connection on the Wii to see how long it would take me to post from there.

The answer is For-freaking-ever.

Thanks to all of you who commented on my last post, it garnered a bit more response than usual, and it was nice to see that it affected so many of my friends and family for the positive. Lord knows that it was one of the more emotionally draining things I've written; probably since "The Rooftop". I don't know if we'll get out of this tunnel while in this life, but it's nice to know that at least we have some company in the dark.

And speaking of the rooftop, I spent most of yesterday on mine, completing the spring ritual of setting up the swamp cooler. It is always tough to do that. I think of my brother every second I'm up there and I always take a little longer than I need to connect the water supply tube. This year was a little harder still. I had to remind myself to be patient as I looked as far as I could across the valley and thought about how nice it will be to see the mountains clearly again. Clear vision, Eternal perspective,...guess Ryan was teaching me more than I thought when I wrote that story.

Well, enough for now. Gotta go crack the whip and get the house picked up before the Boss gets home. Tomorrow will be our 15Th wedding anniversary. I can't believe she's put up with me for this long.

And I gotta change my password...again.

What Else Could It Be?

I had a good feeling about yesterday, and it turned out to be pretty stinking nice.

The Boss had a tolerable day at work, and we went to the eye doctor. By my count, this guy was the eighth doctor that I have seen about my eyes in the last five years. It never fails. They hear my history, shrug a little and say "Let me take a look". Then I put my head up to the microscope and they turn on the light and inevitably exclaim something similar to "Wow". Occasionally I get a "Hmmm", but mostly it's "Wow". My favorite is waiting for the techs who do the initial exams to try a peek. I've heard more than one tech spout off without thinking, "That's really bad!"

It's ok, I've heard it before.

They also like to tell me how unusual it is for a cornea to go into rejection within the first month after transplant. But they do it with a questioning tone that says "Are you sure you're not putting me on?".

"Nope, I really went into rejection within three weeks."

"Did they put you on steroids?"

"Enough to shame Barry Bonds"

"And injection?"

"Close to twenty of 'em. And oral steroids. And intravenous. And about seven different eye drops." (That usually spins their heads like in the exorcist).

This kid (who looked about 12 years old) yesterday looked at the topographical chart of my eyes and freaked out.

"Are you sure your doctor told you to get contacts? Your astigmatism is awfully steep. Glasses might be a better fit for you."

"Do you know what glasses with my prescription cost?" I asked him.

"Oh, yeah. I guess those would run you about three hundred at the discount stores."

"Tell me about it. The insurance crooks...er.. company covers the cost of contacts."

Then he tried to convince me that contacts were a real pain in the neck. I wanted to say to him, "Yeah, it's even worse when you are allergic to the soft lenses", but I didn't.

Maybe I should have, because he then got really adamant about convincing me that contacts were sometimes difficult to use and required significant investments in effort and attention to care.

I admit I kinda wanted to slap him upside the head. Some how I kept from saying, "Do you have any idea about the time and effort that have been put into the care of my eyes? Do you know how crippling this has been to my family, to my standard of living, my self-esteem? Do you know how long I've wandered around in an impressionist painting? Don't talk to me about "effort" and "care", Pal. If it takes an hour a day to put 'em in and an hour a day to take 'em out, I think I can manage to fit it into my freaking schedule!"

The front half of my tongue may never grow back, but I kept from being a jerk. It's a good thing that the Boss was in the hallway trying to sort out her third call from work at the time, or she might have skinned the kid and used his pelt for a cellphone cover.

Anyway, once I convinced him that my doc really did want me to get contacts, I finally got to see the real doctor. He hit me with the numbing drops that always make my lids feel stuck together, looked into the microscope and said...

"Huh"

Gets 'em every time.

He went over my chart, asked suspiciously if I was sure that the doc wanted lenses for both eyes, and excused himself from the room to read my doctors notes.

I looked in the general direction of where the Boss was sitting.

"Ain't sounding too positive, is it?"

"Have faith" she replied wisely.

The Doctor came back in with a box of sample 'fitting' lenses and said "Let's see what we can do".

He tinkered around in the box for a minute, found what he wanted and stuck it to my right eye.

Now over the years I have lost a lot of my blink reflex. When people are jamming fingers, lenses, probes, pressure gauges, needles, and scalpels in your face five or ten times a week, you learn not to blink much. But my self-imposed boycott of the medical profession seems to have allowed it to return with a vengeance, because he stuck that lens in and my lid clamped down like a prison door and refused to open. While he went back to the box of lenses for the left eye, I tried blinking it open, but it had watered up pretty good and I wasn't seeing much of anything.

The doctor came back over and opened my left eye, had me look straight ahead, and stuck a lens on.

I blinked. The lens shifted. I blinked again.

And then I saw the most beautiful thing in the Lord's vast universe.

Sitting twenty feet away, in the most stunning clarity I am capable of imagining... sat my spectacular, shinning, sainted, wife.

I must have stared, because she laughed.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Just reflecting on the fact that the first thing I've seen in nearly half a decade is the most perfect sight in all creation."

That one made her cry (Sorry sweetie, had to be written).

I live my whole life to a hundred years, I'll not forget that sudden shift in perception. With a day to reflect on it I've come to a couple of conclusions.

First, it was not a coincidence and it was not medical science that provided that moment, it was a miracle promised to me in a priesthood blessing so many years ago. As I said yesterday, what difference between clay and plastic?

It was also not a coincidence that what I saw was the Boss. All the years she's suffered and sacrificed, and worked herself to death, and I'm the one who's rewarded with an image of her as she really is.

How do you pay that back?

Third, there is a spiritual parallel to blindness (Yeah, I know, of course there is or the Savior wouldn't have used it himself. But it got a little personal for me yesterday). We come to this earth having forgotten all we knew in the pre-existence. Our test (this life) is like a maze. We look at it from ground view and all we see are walls, dead ends and more obstacles. How do we get to the end?

We require guides who see the end from the beginning. Who looks on the maze from above?

We have to pray for personal revelation; study the scriptures and seek the council of Prophets and Priesthood leaders, then learn to listen to the Holy Ghost for guidance before we can begin to understand why we are here and how we can successfully return to our Father in Heaven's presence.

If we do these things, we find our way past the obstacles and onto the straight and narrow path that leads to Eternal Salvation.

And every once in a while, for some reason or another, something changes. Be it the need to overcome trials, intense study, or simply as a reward for increasing faith, the Lord applies a spiritual contact lens and for a brief moment we get to glimpse the world as it really is. The way that he sees it, in it's perfection. A second of eternal perspective from above the maze that allows us the rare chance to know the beginning from the end.

How do you pay that back?

It only lasted a moment. Much too short in retrospect. I could have stared all day. Lots of things I wanted to see. But the tests had to be done and then it was time to take the lens out. I wish I'd have shut my eye and stumbled out the door with it.

But I got a glimpse of what I used to know, a view of eternity sitting twenty feet away, and it was worth it.

Then the doctor promised that by next Friday, he'd have a pair of lenses that I could take home to test. 20/30 in the left eye. 20/25 in the right.

I'll be patient. Miracles from the Lord are worth waiting for.

I'll eventually have my vision that clear all the time. And my eyes will work again, too.



I can hardly wait.

A Good Day

Squizzle is teething again.

He's been running a fever since last night and he is in a really grouchy mood this morning. "Pitiful" might be the better word for it, actually. He just sits there staring at me with a pathetic stream of slobber dripping from his chin and these awfully heartbreaking moans. I know he's really feeling bad because I offered him his all time favorite treat in the universe and he threw it on the floor with out so much as a taste. If Squizzle isn't downing Popsicles, it's a pretty good indicator that something is wrong.

Today is the last day of school for the girls and they are thrilled beyond comprehension with the fact that they did not have to wear their uniforms today. Funny how one person's greatest joy can be their father's greatest misery (OK, I admit that's a little melodramatic). I wish school would never let out. I wish Peff could go to all day kindergarten in the fall and Squizz could find a free all day preschool. I'd get some writing done those days, I can tell you!

Had to pause there for a minute because Squizzle decided that now would be an excellent time to gag himself into a barf-fest. That does it, I'm sure he's getting new chompers, he got mad when I tried to wipe his mouth off. Ah, this ought to be a spectacular weekend for him. What was I saying about how one sister's time of joy is a little brother's weekend of misery?

I applied for a couple of more jobs yesterday, though neither of them look very promising. I did find a reputable publisher that had online directions for manuscript submissions, so that gave me a little hope. I was thinking I'd have to find an agent before I could get a publisher to look at anything so this was good news.

Finally, today is the big day for the eye doctor. At around three thirty today, I'll go spend about an hour and a half getting poked and prodded and set up for what may very well be a miracle of Biblical proportions. I challenge you, what is the difference between the Savior making a clay of mud and restoring the sight of the blind and Him directing a doctor to make a clay of plastic and doing the same thing for me?

I know that sometimes the answers to our prayers don't come in the way we expect (see Teacher, English and Teacher, Seminary) but things have a way of coming out in the wash. I have a good feeling about today and I am not the least worried. Today is going to be a very good day.

I don't recall the last time I could say that at 9:00 in the morning!

What's Up, Nerds?

I managed to plant my foot firmly in my mouth yesterday. Well, I manage to do it most days, but yesterday was a particularly good one.

I've mentioned the seven kids under five that filled my morning; and by and large, it wasn't as bad as it might have been. They made some messes and did fight over the video games. But they've done worse. Much worse.

Right before Motor was scheduled to get here, I was in the kitchen washing dishes and heard a knock. I figured it was Motor, and so did the kids because they all started shouting, "Motor!" as they made their customary mass stampede down the stairs to open the door. I performed my usual Runt greeting by shouting from the kitchen at pretty much the top of my lungs:

"You ugly, old nerd! Get your big booty upstairs and let's have some fun!"

Imagine my horror when I turned the corner from the kitchen and found my neighbor's mother coming up the stairs. She had arrived to pick his children up and take them back to the hospital to meet their new sister.

Ooops.

Marshmallows and crackers all over the floor, a blanket/pillow fort in one corner, and a full half dozen Destroying Angels hauling butt down the steps to answer the door unsupervised. Then there's me, standing at the top of the stairs in my customary house togs of flip-flops, sweat shorts and a less than spotless t-shirt that was soaked from the navel down with sloshed dishwater. The poster-perfect image of a semi frazzled househusband in his natural habitat.

Probably not my finest moment.

To her credit, she did not seem the least fazed by my um...creative greeting?...and she thanked me for taking care of her grandchildren. I apologized profusely, and she seemed to understand, but I'd love to have been a fly on the wall when she got back to the hospital and asked her son if he knew exactly what kind of lunatic he'd left his kids with.

But I'm sure I'm the only one of you that's ever had a day like that, right?

Gotta go, the job hunt beckons and I must answer her siren signal...

Mormon Mr Mom and How Marshmallows Make It Better

Spent a few minutes hiding from all the runts and reading the Paper. There was an article in the Deseret News about Mormon Mommy Bloggers and a network they have created for support and to boost readership. Since I am still an avowed technophobe that has yet to figure out how to link articles beyond cut and paste, I'll have to just paste it in and let you all figure out how to get there on your own.

http://www.deseretnews.com/article/700036190/Mormon-moms-connect-through-blogs.html

Now, I know that there are plenty of Mommy blogs and even a good number of Mormon Mommy blogs. There are also a fair batch of Mr. Mom blogs (though most of those are pretty crass and often display questionable humour, even by my "flexible" standards).

But I would love to see another Mormon Mr Mom blog. I have looked and am yet to find anyone else writing about the challenges of being a stay-at-home-Dad in a society that usually deems such circumstances anathema. I always knew I was weird, I just didn't think I was that weird.

While I enjoy being a unique voice, I would not mind the added publicity and especially the extra blog traffic that might come from an association with such a community. Anyone familiar with a group would be helping me out a lot by pointing the way. Things have slowed down around here, no doubt due to my long vacation earlier this spring, and I'd like to build readership back up. If friday's session with the contact fitter doesn't work out, this blog may have to become my source of income. And right now you readers make as much off this thing as I do.

Anyway, as I sat pondering my lonewolf status, I received a steady stream of complainants to the table. Each of them offered a familiar gripe; Peff wouldn't share the video game controller. I solved the problem the way I usually do: I turned the games off.

This produced a reaction similar to the high frequency noise disruption devices employed by tactical S.W.A.T. teams. I have been to an AC/DC show, and Angus' screaming guitar cannot touch this wailing in terms of pitch, sustainability, and sheer decibel level. I am sure that I have told you before that this is how the walls of Jericho came down. Destroying Angels, indeed.

Since I was trying to formulate a few more thoughts for this post, I chose the chicken's way out and bribed those without a controller with marshmallows and green goldfish crackers (ain't that a contradiction in terms?). The screeching stopped immediately.

****Editor's Note
If I were to put a dose of Ritalin in each treat, could I then spell it marshmellows? HaHaHa! Oh, put down the phone. It was funny and you know it. Child Services people are all at lunch right now anyway. And beside, they already know all about me. And this was strictly a theoretical sidebar not actual practice! Shame on you for believing everything you read on the Internet!
****

My favorite part of the morning so far has been Reaggers couture fashion. She came over wearing blue and pink flower-pattern pedal pushers, a matching pink top, sandals, and of course, a pink and blue ski cap. I wish my camera had batteries right now.She is also riding a stick horse that seems to enjoy marshmallows as well. At least I am assuming that is where the mallows are going, because she has been asking for more at least twice as often as the other kids.

Another high point is that Squizzle has learned that if he walks up to the side of the table and reaches from his tippy-toes, he can push the button on the side of the laptop that opens the CDROM drive. He thinks this is utterly hilarious. I find it uber annoying. At least he's not screeching.

I gotta go. I think I hear the telltale sign of another marshmallow fight beginning.

Where the H is that Ritalin?

Expect the Interesting

I love Chaos.

We've been close for many years, and my time spent playing with four year olds has led me to believe that Chaos is one of the great driving forces of the universe.

Yesterday, there was no Chaos. The Boss had the day off, and we went to the eye doctor. There, I was told that it is the doctor's belief that a new set of hard contact lenses may be sufficient to return my vision. Or at least enough of it that I might return to a functional level of society. He even said the "D" word.

Drive.

Yeah.

As in "drive a car".

"Do I dare disturb the Universe?" (Ah, J. Alfred. You and me both, buddy).

I am still in a state of shock; and to some extent, disbelief. I have spent five years living in a world that looks as though it was painted by Monet. The thought of emerging from that makes me a little giddy. The possibilities that the doctor's pronouncement opened are too far reaching to contemplate appropriately.

What if the Boss didn't have to drive every where we went? What's it like to go somewhere by yourself? What kind of job opportunities might there be for someone with eyesight?

The only person happier than me to ponder these mysteries is my wife. After the crushing darkness of the last month, that twenty minutes with the eye Doctor was a high-intensity laser beam of hope.

Fatdaddy in the driver's seat. Who'd a thunk it? It ain't a sure thing, but I choose to dream. Joy is often short lived, and Chaos is quick to return.

Like at about ten or ten thirty today when I will have seven children under the age of five invade my house (Shudder).

I'll have Reaggers, Bub, Peff, and Squizzle as normal. Then Motor is coming because it's Wednesday. Then some friends from the neighborhood are having their third child today, and I am taking their other two for the morning.

I told you me and Chaos were buddies. If nothing else, it ough to provide some solid post fodder. Jericho's walls fell under much less noise and confusion. Could be very dangerous. I'd better post this before I'm buried under rubble.

Pray for me.

Up a Tree

Went to a family function last night at the home of the Boss's parents. It was a good time, if not a little crowded. We finished family business and calender arrangement, then sent the kids out to play while we did some visiting. After a while the monkeys (there were 10 or 12 of 'em last night) all started filtering back into the house to get ready to leave. As soon as it started getting dark, the Boss and I were getting ready to go ourselves when it dawned on the Boss that we hadn't seen Peff for a while.

"Go tell your brother that it's time to come in and get ready to go", she told Haggis.

After a minute she came in with an obviously irritated Peff.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked.

"They put me in a tree and I couldn't get down and no one could hear me and I'm mad!" He shouted, near tears. Apparently, his sisters and some cousins put him up in one of Grandpa's trees and left him for dead. He was more than a little upset with them. What irritated me was that I had asked Haggis about a dozen times to go back out and keep an eye on the kids and she managed to avoid doing it by hiding away out of sight. Then when I got after her about it, she started sulking and getting mad at me like I was some kind of jerk for expecting her to take responsibility. After Haggis left the room, my sister in law, who is a veteran of three teenage daughters laughed and said "I've been there before; it's normal and she'll eventually grow out of it." My reply was that she will if she lives long enough. Her current life expectancy is not looking so good. Next week would be a pretty good goal to shoot for.

But on the good side, "Up a Tree" seemed like a pretty cool post title, no?

We were supposed to go with my side to the cemetery in Orem where my grandmother and uncle are buried, and then to West Jordan City Cemetery where my brother is to do the annual sod-trimming and headstone scrub, but the Boss spent all last night dealing with work related problems. She has not had a single night of uninterrupted sleep in at least a month. I begged out to let her sleep in a little today, but she's been getting text messages and phone calls non-stop all day long.

Funny, she was almost sure she asked to use a vacation day today. I guess that means she's only required to spend three quarters of her day solving problems instead of all of it. I HATE CELL PHONES!!!!! The worst part is they call and say, "I'm sorry to bother you..."

Then don't. It's not that tough. Figure it out yourselves, 'cause the Good Lord gave you a brain before you coated it with malted hops and bong resin.

Along employment lines, we have some big things in the works that we are really hoping work out (Isn't that a familiar sentence?). Any spare prayers you have or Job leads you might provide or just plain old encouragement would be welcome right now.

Since it's a holiday today, I'll keep it short. I hope you all have an excellent Memorial day and it charges the old batteries for another week at the old grindstone.

I Wish I'd Written That...

I just got a copy of a poem that my cousin wrote for his Uncle who was killed last week while at work. It passed my personal test of good lit when I read it and said, "Dang. I wish I'd written that." The boy might not have any skill at picking NCAA tournament games, but he's got some verse locked up in his dome for sure.


Uncle RJ


I'll never forget all those warm summer nights,
that followed the days of cold water fights.
Or the man at the center of every one,
my dad's older brother, gramps oldest son.

You could see that big smile all over his face
as his Harley pulled up to visit our place.
And it wasn't to long before he got hold of you,
and each of us knew what we had to do.

We cried,
Mercy, mercy Uncle J,
I think that’s all I can handle today,
I'll be ready for more when you come back again
but until then, I love you my friend.

I have never felt pain like I did on the day
that I learned from my sister he had been taken away.
I fell to my knees and begged the Lord please,
don't let him be gone without one final tease.

I thought of my aunt and my cousins too,
My heart swells with love and sorrow for you.

As we carried his body aloft in the air
past the uniformed brothers and sister all there.
I thought of the times he held me in the air
and tossed me higher than any would dare.

With a mind full of memories and soul of unrest,
I removed the flower that was pinned to my chest.
I placed it back on top of the box dyed tan,
near the truest of banners "The most Wonderful Man"

And I cried,
Mercy, mercy Uncle J,
I think that’s all I can handle today
You'll be waiting for me when I come back again
but until then, I love you my friend.

Mark David Walker
May 2010

Three for the Price of One

Didn't get a chance to post yesterday. Sorry. things were a little crazy. But the extra time to observe gave me some pretty funny stuff. But first things first.

As you may have figured from this last week or so worth of posts, I am officially on the job hunt. I have been looking in all the usual places; Ward Employment Specialist, LDSjobs.org, newspaper classifieds, etc. But something that I had not thought to do was enlist the help of my loyal and most favored readers. If any of you know of any jobs that I might apply for, please let me know. I have years of warehouse experience in shipping and receiving and when my eyes are good, (which will be soon, we hope) I have nearly a decade on a forklift.

I also have a Bachelor's degree in English which helps with communications skills and as a general indicator of work ethic. I'd really like to find something as a writer or in education, but at this point, I'll take any job that I qualify for.

If nothing else, we could use your prayers in our behalf while we try and figure out which direction to go in.

And now, I'll make with the funny.

The first one comes courtesy of Beak.

After a few months of Bub getting on and off of the potty training band wagon (I don't think he's had an accident here in I don't remember how long), Beak is convinced that the boy finally has it figured out. He hasn't had any accidents here or at home in over a week now, and she is very proud of him.

I spoke to her last night and she said she had some blog-fodder for me.

I'll let her tell it.

"Bub came running up to me today saying, 'Potty! Potty!'. I told him that if he had to go he should hurry up and get to the bathroom and not wait. He looked at me and made a bee-line straight for the back door. I started to tell him the bathroom was the other way, but he was already out the door. By the time I got to the back porch, he was standing on the edge of the deck with his drawers around his ankles and he was making it rain!"

I guess we know why the flowers in Beak's backyard grow so nicely, now, don't we? Kinda makes you wish that the Googlemaps satellite was flying overhead at just that moment, huh? It'd serve the nosey beggars right.

Second was Peff telling the Boss last night that he knew how chicken nuggets were made.

"You take the chicken part and the nugget part and the crust part and you put them in the oven and bake them. When they are done, you put the crust part on the chicken part. Then you put them into a special box and then you put them in happy meals."

Not sure what that "nugget" part is, but I now know why I've always been a cheeseburger kind of guy.

Last of all is my favorite story of the night. The Boss and I had been seeking a date for a while, and last night we got a chance to relax a little, sans monkeys. Uncle C agreed to keep an eye on them so we could have a night out. About 9:30 we went to pick them up. We chatted with Beak and Uncle C for a few minutes, then piled the runts into the van and set out for home. On the way, I told the kids that when we got home, they would have to hurry and get their pajamas on, take a melatonin and get to bed.

Have I never mentioned this stuff before? With all apologies to Ben Franklin and his take on beer, melatonin is the real proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. All natural, doctor recommended, no side effect children's sleep aid. Our pediatrician recommended it to us when Peff was a wild child that would not go to bed.

I'll never forget the first time he took it. He was running in a small circle as fast as he could while singing a song. The Boss gave him a tablet and a drink of water and then he took off again. I turned my head for a minute and when I looked back, he had fallen to the ground like he'd been hit with an ax.

Out cold.

I guess what melatonin does is just flip the switch in your brain that reminds you that you're sleepy. He hadn't slept enough for so long, it smacked him like a hammer.

Usually, it takes about ten minutes before it works, but that first time...Magic happens. I swear by it. Melatonin and Tivo for Sunday football are pretty much how I keep from climbing a clock tower, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I told the kids they had to take some as soon as they got home and get to bed. Peff, from the back seat pipes up, "Don't worry about the melatonin, Dad. Uncle C spiked our drinks at dinner, so we already took some."

Suddenly Haggis shouts, "He did what?!"

Peff repeated, "Uncle C put the 'Tonin in our drinks at dinner."

Haggis: "Oh, crap! I drank my drink and then Reaggers gave me hers! I drank 'em both!"

The Boss and I erupted with laughter.

I called Beak who confirmed that Uncle C, had in fact spiked Reaggers drink. She parted with it so easily because she knew it was loaded and didn't want to take it. She was more than happy to let Haggis take her fall.

Now, I don't know if it's possible to OD on Melatonin, but Haggis takes the same dose as we give Squizzle, so I doubt it. Either way, by the time we got home, I had to practically carry Haggis to bed.

Have you ever tried to push a twelve year old to bed while trying not to bust your guts open with hysterical laughter? That's a funny enough image for its own story.

Ah, well. Who knows what adventure we may find today?

Enough for now.

It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Men

No runts today; Uncle C is taking the day off. I do have a nice little tale of destruction from about a week ago that may prove entertaining, however.

I was trying to put a lesson plan together while Peff, Reaggers, Bub, and Squizzle played in the next room. They had decided they wanted to play Lego Indiana Jones, and so I gave Squizzle a bottle and put him down for a nap on the couch. I came into the kitchen and sat at the table to work on my lesson.

After about five minutes, I hear Squizzle stomp into the kitchen. I was only half paying attention to him and he ran straight to the cabinet under the sink, or as it is occasionally called, the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries".

I know.

I should have a child lock on it, but I don't. Moms think of that crap, not Mr. Moms. I am not sure what the boy thinks is in there, but I can't believe that it is not a tremendous disappointment for him when he actually manages to get the door open. All that's in there is the tub of dishwasher soap, the roll of garbage bags, and some dishrags. Not exactly Blackbeard's treasure.

Nevertheless, if one keeps one's eye on the prize for long enough, eventually one will find success. Squizzle caught me only paying half attention and snuck into the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries" and pulled the tub of dishwasher detergent from it.

I am fully cognizant of the potential for catastrophic disaster here. My mother warned us thousands of times to keep the little kids out of dishwasher detergent because even though it smelled of wintergreen, it did not taste of it.

Mom had a friend with a child that had to have all kinds of horrible treatments at Primary Children's hospital because they innocently sampled dishwasher machine soap and so it was one of her major worries.

I turned around in time to catch Squizzle trying desperately to get the lid off the tub. While he was unsuccessful, there was plenty of detergent dust on the outside of the container to gain my complete attention. So I snatched him up and pitched him into the sink for a full-on scrub down.

While my back was turned, Peff and Reaggers decided this was their big shot to do some dirty work. They snuck in and snitched a bag of mini-marshmallows from the pantry. By the time I could pay enough attention to see what they were doing, the snack had escalated into a full-blown mini snowball fight.

I knew exactly were this was headed. If I stopped it they'd only find something else to destroy while I was picking up the marshmallows. I've seen this type of escalation before. You turn your back to clean up one thing, and the monsters find something worse to get into and annihilate. It is their S.O.P, and I am becoming somewhat of an expert observer.

Since I still had to go down and get a new outfit for Squizz, I made the call to ignore the destruction for a moment and focus on one thing at a time. What difference between half a bag of marshmallows strewn about the room or a whole bag?

I forgot one of the Cardinal rules of Destroying Angel care. NEVER; I say again, NEVER make the assumption that you have them figured out. As a wise man said, "When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you...and...umption (or was it when you assume you make an ass of u and me? Wait...it's got to be your bull...or was it the butcher's?...Never mind. Forget I wrote it).

While I was dressing the baby, the Runts decided that throwing marshmallows was only about as half as fun as spitting them at one another. According to my theory, this type of escalation should only have occurred as punishment for me stopping them in their previous fun. I did nothing to deserve this! I let them have their way and this is how they repay my generosity?

By the time I got back upstairs, I found about two dozen soggy, sticky, goo-blobs stuck to my carpet as well as the kitchen linoleum, the walls, the TV, and in perhaps the most impressive display of five year old expectoration ever...The kitchen ceiling.

That one was impressive enough that I actually stopped being angry long enough to ask for a demonstration of how it was accomplished. Imagine my surprise to find that both Peff and Bub were able to pull it off. Hidden talents you never thought your kids might have. File "spitting marshmallows to the ceiling" right between "Make yourself belch" and "Use your armpit to create flatulence noises".

Who knew the sins of my youth would haunt me so long?

Enough for now, I gotta go spend the rest of my afternoon hunting on the job boards. Wish me luck!