Summer's Almost Gone

2006 Summer in a nutshell:

you may need Flash Player to view some links

Quit my job at the university
Earned ten year anniversary

School ended
My Business started

Uncle Charlie passed, a sad reason to see family
Cousin Gaby is pregnant

A toga party in Tucson
Horse races in town

Camped with no fire
For area had already burned

Pagosa Springs and Durango trip
Handed Emma over to her Grandparents

Planted outside
Painted inside

Made it in the Shade
We Beat the Heat

Emma got Kurt Warner's autograph
Ellie got Big Red's

Road trip to Park City for Abbie's 34th
The only place to drink in Utah

Zipped, hiked, swam
Ate and ate and ate

School started, Emma to Kindergarten
Back to the grind again

Hard Days Night

I was having a hard time not falling asleep during the discussions. We made it home and I fell into bed exhausted, despite the hollering from the partying college students five or six houses down. That was at 11:30 p.m.

12:30 a.m. I was shaken from my slumber from a frantic gust of adolescent yells. I would call the cops, if I didn't have to go downstairs to get my phone to do it. I fell back into my slumber only to be overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. It was strange. An overflowing sense that I was doing something wrong. Ellie was sleeping in our closet because a friend was sleeping in her room. Is she alright? Will she panic?

I tried to shake that thought off and focus on the black of the inside of my eyelids. Then I thought of my homesick, Emma. She has been away with her grandparents in Colorado for going on six days. I will not see her for another week. Her sad face. Her loving smile. The way she gently hugs me and kisses me when she is at total peace all faded in and out of my wandering visions.

My computer, the software, the thing hadn't been working for days now, and my deadlines were still approaching. The sense of irresponsibility pushed out the sad portrait of my distant baby girl. My heart raced, and I became warm all over, then extremely hot. I kicked off the covers and realized I had to pee.

When I returned to bed the digital alarm clock read 1:13 a.m. I repositioned myself in hopes of achieving the same level of unconsciousness I so dearly wanted and needed.

"I can't wait to show Emma her bedroom." the agitating voice in my head whispered to me. We had just finished painting it earlier the day before. I painted the tree while I ran my installers on my disabled computer. It made me feel productive then, but now, the realization that I did not have an operating machine to complete my work for my Monday deadline engulfed me. "What do I do now?" the annoying impostor mumbled in my head.

The big event, Made in the Shade is in 14 hours. Friends from long ago are preparing to converge at our house tomorrow. "When will I be able to fix that damn computer." I rolled over to get more comfortable. "Ellie will be up early and I need my rest." I told myself.

The glowing green from the clock invaded the darkness of my closed eyes. I looked at the clock, "2:10 a.m." it illuminated as the voice inside returned, "I am so fricken hot!

I tossed over again and the voice regurgitated, "Ellie murmured. I think she murmured. Emma is probably sleeping. I need to sleep. Maybe performing a new install on my computer with a different disc will do the trick. Maybe Sunday night when Ellie goes to sleep I can work on my project, or maybe I can get up early while she is not up yet. The beer festival, I hope everyone likes their shirts. I need to give them money back for the tickets..."

I got up, dressed, and went to my office to work.

My Kind of Town

Enjoying the Flagstaff Fourth of July Parade, we were abruptly slapped with the reality that on-lookers of such an event are not always the Norman Rockwell types. This broad bullied her way into our curb space with the congeniality of a doberman. During the parade, our feelings quickly healed when we noticed that this crack head really didn't like people, and her behavior was not provoked by my bald head, or the loudness of my excited children.

Pa Gene was quick to take this photo for me adequately documenting her crASSness.



Upon further inspection, this is what her tattoo says right above the nicest part of this fiend -"I have enough friends..."



Gene and I figured she lost a bet, passed out in mixed company, or just needed a hit so she had this engraved into her earthly vessel.

Workin' Nine to Five

I got to complete a puzzle on the dinner room table with my oldest, followed by a good long trampoline session. I read her a book while we both laid on my hammock in the evening dusk.

The following day, as I worked in my home office, my two year old, Ellie was playing with her playhouses in the living room. She had a character that was creatively named, "Ellie." While she conversed to herself through the dolls, I heard her call to it, "Let's go, Ellie bell!" That is what her mom and I call her most of the time. It just sounded better from her mouth.

I have only worn socks at bowling and at my uncle's funeral since the beginning of June.

I have not been woken up by an alarm for work in that time either. Instead, my children are my wake-up call.

I have had conversations over coffee most every morning.

People ask me how working for myself is.

Two for the Show

I realize that many of you are going to think that I am a disgusting piece of work. I would have to assume the same thing considering this confession. I am sure most people are not consumed enough with this subject matter to dump it onto the internet for any bystander to stumble across it. Most individuals would wad the memory right up and flush it down the toilet, never to utter a single word of it's existence to anyone. But this is not your blog.

This is where my warning message must be posted:
If you have a disagreement to potty talk and feces, then I suggest you skip over the following text. If you are disturbed by human waste then I recommend that you do not, under any circumstance, peek at the link posted below.



Ellie is a poop-hoarder. She holds it in for all it is worth. She has been doing this for a very long time. She is completely disinterested in the toilet or becoming potty-trained. We have had to feed her natural diarrhetics for months and months. Lately only Benefiber has kept her regular. Grammy has offered toys as rewards for her to sit and perform on the toilet, but she still has not allowed the toilet to be her friend. She holds it until she can hardly pass it, which only propagates the hatred for becoming an outstanding "trained" individual.

Tonight she was amidst the theatrics involved in order to keep from having a bowel movement. She was screaming, crying, and holding her knees tight and straight in order to hold the lump inside of her. We were outside in the backyard encouraging her to go, but she refused any words, and kept in line with her battle plans. Finally, I picked her up and brought her to her training potty in the bathroom. I held her down on the toilet as her hollered at the top of her lungs. Abbie came in and helped to persuade her as she yelled at me. Within seconds after Abbie told her, "Go poop, baby."

Ellie flatly responded, "I did."

Abbie and I had been listening for the distinctive drop into the plastic bucket to signal a successful download, but heard nothing. I released my grip and Ellie slowly stood to show off her dropping proudly like a mother hen with an egg.

What we discovered was something that blew our minds.

She was so excited, we called the grandparents and gave her a lollipop as a reward and incentive to continue. I think we have broken new ground. My only concern is that she chose to break the habit on 6/6/06.

Of course, I did hold her down.

Lastly, I don't want to hear any shit about me tramatizing her. If you care to partake in the shinanigans of her previous process, then you can wear the badge that gives you the right to criticize me, otherwise, chalk this up as a win for the toilet bowl, and smile with her family.

And I Just Can't Hide It

It was a similar setting at our dinner table. All are eating, except Ellie, who loves to get down from her seat after two bites of her meal. This always drive us crazy since she usually spends the entire half an hour prior to dinner with demands for food because she is "really hungry."

Ellie also plays this game with us, droning on that she has to poop. Since she is a poop-hoarder, we always oblige her request, until recently. She never goes when we let her get down to wander the living room, so we have been making her sit with us at the table, and try to make her stomach a few more bites dinner until we are finished.

On this night, it was the same thing; constant requests for food, get served, eat two things, then decide it is time to lolly-gag around. I made her sit at the table, after several pleases and threats. Then we somehow got on the subject of Disneyland.

Emma had acquired a Disneyland brochure which both of the girls had embedded into their memories. Ellie is in love with the little cars from Autotopia.

As soon as we touched the Disneyland subject, the teary-eyed two-year old flooded us with crazy, almost undecipherable jabber about what she wants to ride on when she gets to "The Happiest Place on Earth."

"Eddy loves da tars. Yeah, da yeddow one is Eddy's tar. Daddy sit in da back. Eddy drive da yeddow one. It is soooo edciting!" she rambled and ended with her cheek resting on her shoulder and her hands clasped in front of her, resembling a Betty Boop pose.

We erupted in laughter while she continued, adding more emphasis on how "edciting" it will be, "Eddy drive da yeddow with Daddy in da back. It is soooooo edciting!" as she clapped her hands with elated anticipation.

"That's great, honey, now eat your apples."

And a World of Fears

"You know, Kadra's dad grew up in this town, Emma." I mentioned to my 5 year old as we drove into downtown. We were visiting my parents in Woodland Park. Emma was sitting in the back seat of the car, seemingly engrossed with her grocery list she had been duplicating from the one my wife had given me.

She murmured a response, as if I was distracting her train of thought.

"Yep, it sure is a small world. Isn't it?" I continued.

It was as if I had snapped her out of a trance, but instead of clucking like a chicken, she became Socrates.

"You know, it really is a small world," she began. "We think it is a big world, but us humans, we are just animals."

Even if I had some sort of response, I would not of been able to get a word into her run-on philosophical declaration.

"And humans have to just kill some animals because we don't like them. Humans are just animals. Other animals think their world is small, but it is really big. We know it is big. They just think it is small. And we have to just kill some animals, and they just don't know." The rambling was much longer than this, and I know I am losing a great deal of the detail, just a few days after it happening, however, it was very profound. Vague enough to insinuate countless meanings, but deep enough to blatantly state a specific argument. She made me so proud.

I believe that our discussions of the food chain, predators, carnivores, who eats who, and the like instigated this flood of thought from my sweet little girl. Of course, maybe the thought of the song, "It's a Small World" might subconsciously stir aggressive behavior of even the very young.

Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane, I've been thinkin' about my home

Our flight landed in Phoenix. We were in row 18 out of 25. At 6 seats per row, we knew right off that it was going to take awhile before we would be able to exit the plane.

The girls had both been really good, but we were nearing the last leg of a long day trip, and we still had at least two hours on the road to get to our house. We were fearing the furnace-like blast of hot air that accompanies most passengers when arriving Sky Harbor Airport. The heat always brings out the best in all of us. The anxiety was beginning to ferment deep inside my chest.

Ellie smiled at me and was dancing to the hip-hop music that mysteriously seeped from the overhead speakers as we waited. I held my breathe.

Row by row, overhead storage bins slowly emptied as the temperature slowly rose. Truthfully, it could of been my imagination fueled with anticipation to get home. Abbie asked me if I could carry Ellie out. I agreed, and was happy to see the two seats in front of us clear out.

I reached down and raised Ellie up into my arms. I grunted. She immediately began loudly chatting to me with a twinkle of laughter burning in her smile, "Daddy farted!" she hollered.

The remaining passengers fell silent in anticipation for an encore of toilet talk from my two-year old as she quickly restated her previous two words. This time it was delivered as a question, that she immediately answered for me, "Daddy farted? Nooooo, Daddy NO farted!"

She ran on, "Ellie farted? Noooo, Ellie NO farted too!"

The airplane audience erupted in laughter as she basked in her comedic glory. She paused one moment, a pregnant pause of sorts before she peeked over my shoulder to see the entertained crowd.

I Got My Back Against The Record Machine

So, here's a new game for you. It's called "Bald Guy Jumping Board". My girls and nephew invented it last month. I think it is derived from an ancient Roman gladiator event, or a Spanish Inquisition torture, either way, it is a hoot for all the jumpers.

The Rules are basic:
#1: Find a bald, lazy guy and trick him to lay on his belly in an open area, preferably a carpeted living room. (If he has a round belly, there is more of a balancing challenge for the experienced).
#2: Start by standing on the sucker's legs, and march your way up his back.
#3: Bounce on his shoulders and then jump off over his shiny white head.
#4: If you fall off, you go to the end of the line and start over

There is no limit to the number of players.

Scoring:
If you get a grunt or exasperating sound of pain from the baldy, you get a point
If you clear his noggin, you get two points.
If you land on his smooth melon, you get one point
If you land on your feet, you get three points
Bonus points are awarded for style and distance of jump, this includes the use of props such as stuffed animals resembling the President.

To Win:
The first one to one hundred, wins!

So we played it once.
When I came to, I believe I heard that Ellie won.

Mother's Little Helper

It was time for us to give Ellie her Mylanta to help her continuing constipation situation. Before anyone gets too excited about this, Ellie has a love-hate relationship with her bowels. She is constantly holding in her "business" until she is so backed-up, she nearly bursts at the seams. We have to coax her into a BM on a daily basis, so potty-training is pretty much on hold until we can get past this desire to keep it to herself. So where was I? Yes, the Mylanta Exchange.

We have tried a multitude of strategies for this, all of which seem to have only worked once. Usually a bribe for a cookie, or candy, or ice cream does the trick, however, this night they were as successful as pulling out a week-old dinner from the refrigerator; nothing was going to get her to take that darned cherry-flavored, milky shot of Mylanta.

We tried the tender talk approach. The one where we try to thoroughly explain that it helps her tummy, yada, yada, yada. The soft words were drained out by her yelping screams of disgust.

We finally had to pull out the big guns and use the "daddy" voice to get the job done. Of course, she was so worked up by this time that she gulped a huge swig and immediately started to regurgitate the blessed corndog meal (see previous post, "Godzilla"). Lucky for all of us, Abbie was there lickety-split with a motherly cupped hand to catch the fine collage of pink Mylanta and re-reprocessed meat chunks the size of marbles.

Now if that's not love, I don't know what is. Abbie can even tell you this story with a smile on her face. Oh, the powers of gestation. Amazing.