Are You Ready For Some Football?
Tomorrow is the real start of the 2005 NFL Season. I am stoked. I am in another Fantasy Football league this year, but only one... found that I could not keep my teams straight and ended up being mediocre at best last year. Plus, this league will pay money!!
I have my office pool picks. (more money) And I even have Abbie placing her picks too. (backup plan for more money).
I have my snacks all set and ready.
I can't wait.
It is a simple and silly fanatical thing I enjoy, but I always convince myself that it is alright because I am not this passionate about any other sport. I don't wear jerseys "every" weekend as I flip constantly between every single football game, thanks to my Direct TV Sunday Ticket programming.
I don't kick my dog or abuse my family if the Niners lose. Gawd knows that I would be in jail after last season.
Aside from a general derogatory statement usually directed at the arrogant and ignorant Joe Theisman or John Madden, I am typically pretty sane.
I woot and holler just enough to startle the kids and make the old dog bark. This year, Ellie will most likely run into the room to see what all the excitement is about. I will tell her and she will look at me blankly, just like her older sister always did. I can count on Ellie being close by though, because I always have snacks hanging around throughout the day. Emma use to love football season when she was the same age... then regular childhood play with Barbie's and Polly Pockets, and other little girls severed our football relationship - she'll be back.
I am happy that the air is getting colder so I don't feel bad that I am not enjoying the sunshine and beautiful weather on Sundays, because I am NOT going to go outside (after 10 am).
Oh yeah, and all the weight I happened to shave off for my summer vacations will most likely help me with my winter coat because of the beer and cheese I will be consuming, but hey, it's expected, it's officially football season.
9.10.2005
9.09.2005
What's Grosser Than Gross?
I use to think it was the one time when Emma was just a few months old and I was changing her diaper. That was the time when I pulled her legs up to put on a fresh covering that she shat right before my eyes. It was like a Play-Doh pump toy or a water pump. That was pretty "disdusting" as Emma would say now.
But last night I was reminded that child vomit is truly grosser than gross. Ellie helped to jog my memory. The reason why it is the number one on the gross scale is because I am now on my third load of laundry because of her sudden stomach bug. We had to wash countless blankets, three sets of pajamas, two washcloths, a mattress cover, the baby bumper, some towels, and both my and Abbie's clothes. The round that was grossest is a close tie - the initial spew where everything was everywhere and I was choking back my own dinner at about 10 pm, and the 2 am episode where Abbie had it running down all over her chest. Probably the big one wins though, just for sure volume.
I bet you are really excited that I shared this little bit of knowledge, but what can I say, I have had a dry spell of thoughts online.
Let's just say that this is my reminder to everyone to Wash Your Hands, all the time.
I use to think it was the one time when Emma was just a few months old and I was changing her diaper. That was the time when I pulled her legs up to put on a fresh covering that she shat right before my eyes. It was like a Play-Doh pump toy or a water pump. That was pretty "disdusting" as Emma would say now.
But last night I was reminded that child vomit is truly grosser than gross. Ellie helped to jog my memory. The reason why it is the number one on the gross scale is because I am now on my third load of laundry because of her sudden stomach bug. We had to wash countless blankets, three sets of pajamas, two washcloths, a mattress cover, the baby bumper, some towels, and both my and Abbie's clothes. The round that was grossest is a close tie - the initial spew where everything was everywhere and I was choking back my own dinner at about 10 pm, and the 2 am episode where Abbie had it running down all over her chest. Probably the big one wins though, just for sure volume.
I bet you are really excited that I shared this little bit of knowledge, but what can I say, I have had a dry spell of thoughts online.
Let's just say that this is my reminder to everyone to Wash Your Hands, all the time.
5.01.2005
You Say Tomatoe
Emma and I were talking about writing a story. I agreed to write it for her, and she could orate.
I said, "Would you like to write a rhyming story?" suddenly remembering that she is not real good with the concept of rhyming.
"Yes!" she declared. "Something with Rainbow!"
"You mean something, like, say, scarecrow?" I said enthusiastically.
She nodded excitedly, "Yeah! And like PIG!"
Emma and I were talking about writing a story. I agreed to write it for her, and she could orate.
I said, "Would you like to write a rhyming story?" suddenly remembering that she is not real good with the concept of rhyming.
"Yes!" she declared. "Something with Rainbow!"
"You mean something, like, say, scarecrow?" I said enthusiastically.
She nodded excitedly, "Yeah! And like PIG!"
4.28.2005
Panties and Chicken Boobs
Her gorgeous blue eyes began to fill with tears as she looked up at me with a trembling chin.
"Emma, baby, what's wrong?" I asked.
We were simply getting her ready for school when the chipper mood flipped 180.
Her eyelids forced the water from inside her eyes. Her cheeks became stained.
"What is wrong, baby?" I had to ask again.
"They won't .... " she sobbed.
Abbie and I leaned forward expecting the worst.
"The deachers at my dool..." she started over.
Our eyes widened as if to encourage the words from her mouth. "My deachers, won't pull my panties from my crack at dool!" she blurted out, complete with a string of spit flinging to the air in front of her and repelling down her tiny chin.
The following day I was sitting at the dinner table. Emma was coloring a picture next to me and Abbie was standing in between us both. Abbie and I were talking about something. Something that at the time was more important than any of the many reoccurring interruptions we encounter every time we attempt an adult conversation.
During one of our pauses that is usually the cue for Emma to inject a "Mom, Mommy, Mom" she surprised us with a statement:
"Mommy, you have chicken boobs."
Abbie turned her head and stared at the words still hanging in the air.
"Wait did you say?" Abbie asked.
Emma pointed to Abbie's arm.
"Goose Bumps?" Abbie questioned.
"Yeah." Emma replied as if she had stated the question perfectly and began working again on her drawing.
Her gorgeous blue eyes began to fill with tears as she looked up at me with a trembling chin.
"Emma, baby, what's wrong?" I asked.
We were simply getting her ready for school when the chipper mood flipped 180.
Her eyelids forced the water from inside her eyes. Her cheeks became stained.
"What is wrong, baby?" I had to ask again.
"They won't .... " she sobbed.
Abbie and I leaned forward expecting the worst.
"The deachers at my dool..." she started over.
Our eyes widened as if to encourage the words from her mouth. "My deachers, won't pull my panties from my crack at dool!" she blurted out, complete with a string of spit flinging to the air in front of her and repelling down her tiny chin.
The following day I was sitting at the dinner table. Emma was coloring a picture next to me and Abbie was standing in between us both. Abbie and I were talking about something. Something that at the time was more important than any of the many reoccurring interruptions we encounter every time we attempt an adult conversation.
During one of our pauses that is usually the cue for Emma to inject a "Mom, Mommy, Mom" she surprised us with a statement:
"Mommy, you have chicken boobs."
Abbie turned her head and stared at the words still hanging in the air.
"Wait did you say?" Abbie asked.
Emma pointed to Abbie's arm.
"Goose Bumps?" Abbie questioned.
"Yeah." Emma replied as if she had stated the question perfectly and began working again on her drawing.
4.19.2005
Say, Say, Say
Well it's been a good time using Emma's mispronunciation as a comedic writing tool. We took her to a speech pathologist for an evaluation yesterday. They told me that she does mispronounce certain letters and she could benefit from some meetings with them! I was amazed by the entire process, but our little four year old was the most amazing part of it all.
She really showed affection for the girl named Sarah who immediately distracted Emma from the "adult conversation" I was having with the other student evaluator. Sarah assisted on a puzzle that worked her right into Emma's heart. It was obvious the friendship had quickly matured when Emma began to add comments after each of Sarah's questions:
"What is this a picture of?" Sarah would ask.
"A Duct" Emma replied.
"A duck, right, very good. And what color is this duck?"
"Yeyow" she quickly volleyed back.
"That's right, yellow." Sarah encouraged as she started to turn the page in her picture book.
"My sister noves aminals." Emma added.
"She does? Do you have one sister?"
Emma nodded, confirming an affirmative.
"Do you have a brother?" Sarah followed up.
"No, but we don't know fo' shore if Elwie is doh-ing to be a boy or a dirl when she drows up."
Both evaluators turn to look at me to decipher.
Trying to not laugh to hard I assisted, "Ellie is a tomboy right now."
The smiles cracked, Emma nodded in agreement, and the page of the book turned for the next line of questions.
Well it's been a good time using Emma's mispronunciation as a comedic writing tool. We took her to a speech pathologist for an evaluation yesterday. They told me that she does mispronounce certain letters and she could benefit from some meetings with them! I was amazed by the entire process, but our little four year old was the most amazing part of it all.
She really showed affection for the girl named Sarah who immediately distracted Emma from the "adult conversation" I was having with the other student evaluator. Sarah assisted on a puzzle that worked her right into Emma's heart. It was obvious the friendship had quickly matured when Emma began to add comments after each of Sarah's questions:
"What is this a picture of?" Sarah would ask.
"A Duct" Emma replied.
"A duck, right, very good. And what color is this duck?"
"Yeyow" she quickly volleyed back.
"That's right, yellow." Sarah encouraged as she started to turn the page in her picture book.
"My sister noves aminals." Emma added.
"She does? Do you have one sister?"
Emma nodded, confirming an affirmative.
"Do you have a brother?" Sarah followed up.
"No, but we don't know fo' shore if Elwie is doh-ing to be a boy or a dirl when she drows up."
Both evaluators turn to look at me to decipher.
Trying to not laugh to hard I assisted, "Ellie is a tomboy right now."
The smiles cracked, Emma nodded in agreement, and the page of the book turned for the next line of questions.
2.11.2005
2.06.2005
Post-A-Toast Loser
My submission to the Subway Post-A-Toast Contest. I think I got robbed. Check out the real winners that are watching the Superbowl today in Jacksonville. POST-A-TOAST
I think they just picked the first 50 entries, but then again, I am biased.
Limited on words used, this is what I came up with:
With 2 girls born the 10th month of the year
Its true the playoffs give me more than just cheer
The family joke is avoid the postseason
Fear of more offspring is hardly a reason
I wont stop no matter what team
If I win this toast we’ll hit Halloween!
My submission to the Subway Post-A-Toast Contest. I think I got robbed. Check out the real winners that are watching the Superbowl today in Jacksonville. POST-A-TOAST
I think they just picked the first 50 entries, but then again, I am biased.
Limited on words used, this is what I came up with:
With 2 girls born the 10th month of the year
Its true the playoffs give me more than just cheer
The family joke is avoid the postseason
Fear of more offspring is hardly a reason
I wont stop no matter what team
If I win this toast we’ll hit Halloween!
1.31.2005
Can't Keep It In
I never quite understood my father's need to sit for so long in the bathroom when he got home from work. Thinking now, it probably was a whole ten minutes he would take. I also didn't understand why he would get so angry when I would come and knock on the "office" door to ask him some trivial question, or to tell him that the phone was for him. It truly amazed me at how easily it upset him.
Until today.
The girls were playing nicely. I had been holding "it" in me for at least a half an hour so I could complete giving them dinner. I got them to quietly start to entertain themselves before I made the quick slip to the nearby commode. It was not like I had to really work on completing this task. I was ready to go. But what was I rewarded with before I even got to unravel the toilet paper?
"Daaaa-ddy?"
The heavy breathing of the little one was wheezing through the seam between the door and the hinges, as Emma finger-tapped the door as she called for me. I barely had my pants undone. I hardly had balanced myself on the john and both of them were all up into my business. "Great accountants for the IRS someday." I thought to myself.
Demanding back to the hollow door, "WHAT!?"
"Um, when are you going to give me my dessert?" the innocent cherub voice questioned sweetly from the other side of the water closet door.
Pardon the phrase, but I just about shit. If I didn't have my pants wrapped around my ankles I probably would of stomped out of the room in absolute disgust for the situation. I was just in the same room with her just a minute ago... just 45 seconds ago, and she follows me to the toilet to ask me if I will get her ice cream? Is that before or after I wipe?
Collecting myself, I tell her that she can wait, that I am, "Busy right at the moment."
Of course, Ellie realized that I was having too much fun inside that funny little room with the odd shaped water bowl without her, and her pick-me-up-and-love-me-wail begins. You know the one. The cry that starts deep inside the belly and grows as it escapes the nose and mouth, changing octaves as it reaches the surface.
This little interlude is complete. "Sorry about that Dad," I murmured to myself, remembering my childhood punishments to my father this same way. It really means a lot more than I ever really thought.
I never quite understood my father's need to sit for so long in the bathroom when he got home from work. Thinking now, it probably was a whole ten minutes he would take. I also didn't understand why he would get so angry when I would come and knock on the "office" door to ask him some trivial question, or to tell him that the phone was for him. It truly amazed me at how easily it upset him.
Until today.
The girls were playing nicely. I had been holding "it" in me for at least a half an hour so I could complete giving them dinner. I got them to quietly start to entertain themselves before I made the quick slip to the nearby commode. It was not like I had to really work on completing this task. I was ready to go. But what was I rewarded with before I even got to unravel the toilet paper?
"Daaaa-ddy?"
The heavy breathing of the little one was wheezing through the seam between the door and the hinges, as Emma finger-tapped the door as she called for me. I barely had my pants undone. I hardly had balanced myself on the john and both of them were all up into my business. "Great accountants for the IRS someday." I thought to myself.
Demanding back to the hollow door, "WHAT!?"
"Um, when are you going to give me my dessert?" the innocent cherub voice questioned sweetly from the other side of the water closet door.
Pardon the phrase, but I just about shit. If I didn't have my pants wrapped around my ankles I probably would of stomped out of the room in absolute disgust for the situation. I was just in the same room with her just a minute ago... just 45 seconds ago, and she follows me to the toilet to ask me if I will get her ice cream? Is that before or after I wipe?
Collecting myself, I tell her that she can wait, that I am, "Busy right at the moment."
Of course, Ellie realized that I was having too much fun inside that funny little room with the odd shaped water bowl without her, and her pick-me-up-and-love-me-wail begins. You know the one. The cry that starts deep inside the belly and grows as it escapes the nose and mouth, changing octaves as it reaches the surface.
This little interlude is complete. "Sorry about that Dad," I murmured to myself, remembering my childhood punishments to my father this same way. It really means a lot more than I ever really thought.
1.25.2005
Down on the Corner
An effective form of punishment with Emma is to make her stand in a corner. We never "enjoy" punishing our first born, but this method is the quickest and least painful for all parties. It is the most appropriate for poor manners or rude behavior. Of course, it is probably the least liked by Emma. I know this because of the wailing that pursues immediately after the verdict is placed.
A couple of nights ago, Emma was banned to the corner by the garage door, slightly out of the room, but still within my line of sight. She wept her protest and sniveled with her wet cheeks nearly touching the walls; an evil look occasionally piercing me from over her shoulder.
Her little sister, now only 15 months old seemed entertained by the happenings, for as soon as the screeching cries ceased from Emma and the tumultuous sobs waned, Ellie decided to duplicate her sister's actions. She chose to cut out the part that got Emma in this corner. Instead, little sister decided to re-enact the screaming that ensued as she about-faced the drywall. Ellie was mocking the dramatic protest, right in front, (or literally behind) her sister's back.
Being that no eyes were on me for the moment, I silently and violently chuckled with shoulders jumping and with my hand over my mouth to hide all sound of "enjoyment".
An effective form of punishment with Emma is to make her stand in a corner. We never "enjoy" punishing our first born, but this method is the quickest and least painful for all parties. It is the most appropriate for poor manners or rude behavior. Of course, it is probably the least liked by Emma. I know this because of the wailing that pursues immediately after the verdict is placed.
A couple of nights ago, Emma was banned to the corner by the garage door, slightly out of the room, but still within my line of sight. She wept her protest and sniveled with her wet cheeks nearly touching the walls; an evil look occasionally piercing me from over her shoulder.
Her little sister, now only 15 months old seemed entertained by the happenings, for as soon as the screeching cries ceased from Emma and the tumultuous sobs waned, Ellie decided to duplicate her sister's actions. She chose to cut out the part that got Emma in this corner. Instead, little sister decided to re-enact the screaming that ensued as she about-faced the drywall. Ellie was mocking the dramatic protest, right in front, (or literally behind) her sister's back.
Being that no eyes were on me for the moment, I silently and violently chuckled with shoulders jumping and with my hand over my mouth to hide all sound of "enjoyment".
1.18.2005
Total Eclipse of the Heart
The heaviness of each day has lessened every 24 hours since the solstice. The days get lighter earlier each morning in my room and in my soul. We have shed our surroundings expecting enjoyment because of the general change, but the most amazing outcome is the dissipation of sadness. Unexpected and unplanned, this lifted weight could be awarded to the spinning world or the persistence of time. The tired, worn skin scratches off like a week-old sunburn revealing a youthfulness towards life. The songs seem sweeter. Debates are unwanted and the desire to smile at others and offer handshakes are sprouting more.
The black veil, the lacking will to talk is lifting like the opening curtain.
"Welcome to the new me, please be seated. The show has already begun. We encourage active participation during the program. Do you have your lighters?"
"Freebird!"
"Dance!"
The heaviness of each day has lessened every 24 hours since the solstice. The days get lighter earlier each morning in my room and in my soul. We have shed our surroundings expecting enjoyment because of the general change, but the most amazing outcome is the dissipation of sadness. Unexpected and unplanned, this lifted weight could be awarded to the spinning world or the persistence of time. The tired, worn skin scratches off like a week-old sunburn revealing a youthfulness towards life. The songs seem sweeter. Debates are unwanted and the desire to smile at others and offer handshakes are sprouting more.
The black veil, the lacking will to talk is lifting like the opening curtain.
"Welcome to the new me, please be seated. The show has already begun. We encourage active participation during the program. Do you have your lighters?"
"Freebird!"
"Dance!"
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