The King-Sized Adventure

Summer, Summer, Slumber Time

2016-06-10T09:11:00.001-04:00

Glory, glory, hallelujah school is out. I hate the school year. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful that we live in America and our kids have the opportunity to go to school and learn stuff and all, but the school year sucks. Between all of the projects, the field trips, the tests, the report cards, the lunches, the extra-curricular activities, etc, it is exhausting. We basically get sucked up into a tornado of ‘crap to do’ in August, and get spit out in May battered, beaten, and broken. This past year we had five kids in school. Starting in August, with Stella going to K4, we’ll have six. That’s six different humans constantly dealing with school related problems. Not to mention our oldest is nineteen and our youngest is four, so we’ll be dealing with problems ranging from dorm room assignments and nursing school issues to a kindergartener’s overinflated sense of self-confidence that was brought on by…..

Me: Stella, how do you spell cat?

Stella: R-F-B

Me: That’s right!! Good job!! You are soooo smart! And pretty! And wonderful!

I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be the one that rejects her. That's what school is for. Anyway, school sucks. Bring on summer. However, summer does present its own set of challenges; i.e. sleep schedules and whatnot. You see, my sleep schedule stays on Eastern Time Zone over the summer but the kids apparently immediately switch to Hawaii-Aleutian Time which is six hours behind. Seriously, I wake up six hours before them and they go to sleep six hours after me. Last night the girls started watching a movie, STARTED watching a movie at 10:30pm! I can’t stay awake for a movie that starts at 10:30am. So whatever, watching a late movie seems harmless, right? Well it would be harmless if they didn’t set the volume on the TV somewhere between ‘motorcycle parked in my bedroom’ and ‘747 taking off from my roof’. It was so loud I thought the characters’ voices were coming from my own head. What possesses someone to raise the volume up that high?

Can you hear it?

Yeah.

How bout now?

Yeah.

Now?

YEAH!

NOW!!

YEAH!!!!!!!

OKAY THAT’S PROBABLY GOOD THEN!!!!

Luckily I didn’t have to get out of bed to go yell at them to turn it down because Jaxon came in the room to wake us up so I could enter the Hulu password into his Kindle for the 9,000th time. I made him go downstairs to tell them to turn it down. He went down the stairs and still had to yell at the top of his lungs for them to hear him.

The movie alone wouldn’t have been that bad, but the night before I was awoken by the sounds of a male voice talking in my house. I checked the time on my phone and it was 3:00am. I hopped up thinking I might get to shoot an intruders, but when I walked out into the hallway I realized it was just Cole talking on the phone to his girlfriend. At 3am. And don’t give me any of that, “Awww puppy love. That’s so sweet” crap. I’ve read their text messages to each other. They’re not that interesting. Here’s how 99% of their conversations go: (translation in parentheses, for all of you who don’t speak ‘teen’)

Cole: wyd (What are you doing?)

Destiny: nothing hbu (I am not currently doing anything. How about yourself?)

Cole: nothing haha –laughing crying face emoji- (I am not doing anything either. It’s funny because we’re both doing the same thing, yet nothing at all)

Destiny: haha –laughing crying face emoji- (I also think this is funny)

Cole: I miss you –sad face emoji- (I’m not really sure what to say, but I’m pretty sure you want me to miss you)

Destiny: ikr. I miss you too! –sad face emoji- (I know, right? We are in agreement again. I too am sad)

Cole: I can’t wait to see you. Maybe this weekend –praying hands emoji- (I would like to see you this weekend. God and parents willing)

Destiny: that would be lit (I would enjoy that)

Cole: ikr (I concur with your last statement)

Destiny: hahaha (I don’t really have anything else to say but I really want to keep this text going)

Cole: haha (I don’t know what to say either but I’m glad we’re communicating)

Destiny: -red heart emoji- (I have strong feelings for you)

Cole: -blue heart emoji- (I also have very strong feelings for you, but they’re also different because my emoji is blue)

You get the idea. And it goes on like that for sixteen hours a day every day. They weren’t exactly solving the financial crisis on that 3am phone call.

To make my sleeping matters worse, my beautiful wife, who I love dearly, decided to drink a gallon of coffee at 6pm yesterday evening in order to have the energy to lead our group of 12 elementary students at vacation Bible school last night. This seemed like a good idea for the short term because she did, in fact, have plenty of energy for VBS. Long term, however, it was probably not such a good idea. She could not go to sleep. At all. We tried everything to tire her out. Some things I minded, some things I didn’t mind so much. –winky face emoji- After I fell asleep, every thirty minutes or so, I’d get a nudge:

Rach: Babe, did you see there was a terrorist attack in Tel Aviv?

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: Isn’t that awful?

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: Babe, did you see that alligator that had a person in its mouth?

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: I wonder who it was. Can you imagine?

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: Isn’t that awful?

Rach: Babe, babe, did you see that lady fight off her daughter’s kidnapper in that store?

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: Isn’t that awful?

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: I don’t think I should bring more than one kid with me to TJ Maxx anymore. Because what if while I was fighting off one attacker, another attacker took one of the other kids. Do you think they would…Babe….babe?

Me: Huh?

Rach: Do you think I should avoid TJ Maxx altogether? What about Ross? Do you think a kidnapper would try anything at Ross? Maybe I'll just bring one kid to Ross, but save multiple kid trips for Marshalls. Babe?

Rach: Babe, hey…..I can’t sleep.

Me: (no response)

Rach: Hey did you hear me? I can’t sleep.

Me: Mmmm Hmmm.

Rach: I just can’t go to sleep.

At this point I check my phone and it’s 4:30 am—a whopping 45 minutes before I’m supposed to wake up. Should be angry, right? Of course not. Why? I didn’t have to wake anybody up. I didn’t have to pack any lunches. I didn’t have to wake anybody up again because they didn’t get up the first time. I didn’t have to send any teenage girls back upstairs to put on real shorts. I didn’t have to dole out any money for a “field trip” that someone “told me about yesterday”. I didn’t have to find anyone’s shoes. I didn’t have to wake anybody up again because it’s time to leave and they didn’t wake up the last two times. I simply got up out of bed. Quietly got ready. Quietly packed up my stuff. And quietly walked out the door with a giant smile on my face. Man I love summer.

Sick Baby

2016-04-13T21:17:00.002-04:00

Our 3 year old, Stella, is sick. Having a sick 3 year old is the worst. Sick teenagers are way easier. With teenagers it’s like, “Oh you have a fever? Here’s a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. Watch some Netflix and call me when you’re ready to crawl out of your hole.” But sick 3 year olds are different. They’re so sad and pathetic and cute, and you have to make sure they don’t run a fever for too long so their organs don’t shut down. Having a sick toddler is like carrying around a new iphone without a case. A sick teenager is like having an otter box on your phone. Sure you want to take care of it, but it’s not as life or death.

Anyway, Stella was running a pretty high fever, so we let her sleep in our bed last night. At first she started off in the middle of the bed between Rach and me. Rach was angling for a back rub so she asked Stella if they could trade spots.

Rach: Stella, can you and Daddy switch spots so he can rub my back?

Stella: No thanks. I like it here.

Rach: Stella?

Stella: No Daddy needs to rub my back.

At this point Rach got up and went to the other side of the bed, putting me in the middle. Then I heard, “Babe, rub my back.” “No, Daddy, rub my back!” “Rub my back!” “No, mine!” So I did what any self-respecting father would do. I pretended to go to sleep. (Which was immediately followed by me actually going to sleep). The joke was on me, however, because at around midnight, I awoke to find myself the only one under the covers unable to move because they were both on top of the covers. I look to my right, and there is Rach’s face about 2 inches away from mine, breathing on me as if I was a mirror that she was about to wipe off. I look to my left, and there is Stella’s face, also 2 inches away from mine, breathing just the same. I felt like I was strapped to a gurney inside a hot air balloon. It wouldn’t have been as bad but I could actually hear the germs laughing and high-fiving as they left Stella’s mouth and flew into mine; the equivalent of the Syrian refugees being shown the red carpet to America just as I was trying to make my immune system great again.

So I wiggle out from under the covers and Kung Fu Panda my way to the open side of the bed next to Stella. Since I had reached my maximum number of germ visas I decided to face away from Stella toward the outside of the bed. This would’ve been a great plan but I did not anticipate that Stella would be perfectly content being the big spoon. I outweigh her by close to 200 lbs. It would be like me trying to be the big spoon with a brontosaurus, but there she was, knees in my back and her feverish hand on my shoulder; inching closer and closer to the point that I couldn’t lay back flat without crushing her. She wasn’t so much trying to be the big spoon as she was trying to crawl inside me like a freezing rabbit trying to find warmth in a bear carcass. We 'slept' like that for a few hours until about 3am, Rach wakes me up and says “I think her fever spiked again. We have to find the thermometer.” This July we will have been married for ten years. I know good and well that ‘We need to find the thermometer’ actually means 'You need to get up and go look for the thermometer while I lay in bed and hollers out places for you to look."

I look in the medicine cabinet. It’s not there. I look in all of the bathrooms. It’s not there. I look in the medicine cabinet again. It’s not there again. Rach calls and wakes up our 18 year old Tori, who is sleeping in her dorm, because she may have been the last one to use it. She says check Stella’s night stand. I look there. It’s not there. I check under the bed. It’s not there. At this point I know that Rach won’t let me back in the bed until I find the stupid thermometer, but I’ve checked every rational place that it would be. So I just start checking random places, like under the kitchen sink, and in the silverware drawer, and behind the entertainment center. Rach finally comes downstairs and says she woke up our 13 year old Scarlett, and she said it’s in the medicine cabinet. I start to tell Rach that I checked the medicine cabinet 3 times already and it’s not in there, but just as I start to speak I see her walk to the medicine cabinet, open it, grab the thermometer, and shoot me a dirty look as she walks back upstairs. Dang. Now she’s thinking that I’m either a jerk or an idiot. Lucky for me I’m just an idiot.

Her temperature is 102.5 so we pump her full of medicine and make sure it comes down to a non-organ-threatening level. Stella slept for the rest of the night and Rach and I were able to get a full 2 hours before we had to get the other kids ready for school. At this point in the story, I’m supposed to come up with some anecdote about how rewarding parenting can be. Or how at some point in the night Stella groaned and said, “Daddy?.....”, “Yes sweetie?”, “…..I love you.” (which really did happen) And my heart melted and made it all worth it. Or I should say something about how she’s only going to be little like this for a short time, and we need to enjoy it because we’re going to blink and she’ll be grown. I’d like to tell you that we learned a valuable lesson, or blah, blah, blah. But I can’t. I’m tired, and the only thing in my brain right now is one of those empty cloud thought bubble emoji’s. Or maybe the zzz emoji followed by the sick face emoji followed by the gun emoji. I need to stop sign emoji. Praying hands emoji for me.

eParenting

2015-11-17T21:59:00.000-05:00

In many ways technology has made parenting massively easier. Communicating with your kids, knowing where they are at all times, keeping track of their grades, etc is much simpler now than it was when I was growing up. This particularly comes in handy when you have six kids, and most, if not all, of those kids have some sort of activity going on every weekend. Such was the case this past weekend when Cole and Gavin had their football banquet/awards ceremony, Scarlett had a dance recital, and Jaxon had a Saturday/Sunday soccer tournament an hour and a half away in Columbia. It’s always fun leading up to the weekend when Rach and I try to figure out which kids we’re going to disappoint. Basically, it’s all about playing to your strengths. We knew Rach had to go to Scarlett’s dance recital because there was no way I would be able to do her hair or makeup. I’ll never forget when Scarlett was 3 trying to put her hair in a ponytail and she looked back at me with the most disappointing face you could imagine, “I got it, Daddy, you’re not very good at this.” And she snatched the brush out of my hand. I haven’t done her hair since. We also knew I had to take Jax to his tournament on Sunday because we had to leave early and if Rach leaves the house before 7am she will spontaneously combust. (That might not be true but we’ve never been able to disprove it either). So Sunday was covered, but Saturday I had to decide between the tournament and the football banquet. That decision also happened to be made for me because the football team was holding their banquet at a paintball facility. Then plan was to play paintball for four hours then have the awards ceremony after. Paintball sounds awesome, right!?! Umm, negative. First of all, I’m old. I’m not quite ‘socks and sandals’ old, but I’m definitely creeping in on ‘only watch Fox News and the Weather Channel’ old. Second of all, I’m not a small person. I’m a little over 6 feet tall, and probably about 3 feet wide. I’d basically be a like a lumbering sheet of plywood out there for kids to shoot at. There’s no way I’d leave that place looking like anything but a Sherwin Williams paint swatch. Paintball? No thanks I’ll pass. Lucky for me, the school Periscope’d the awards ceremony so I was able to watch Cole and Gavin get their awards. Gavin even gave a speech. Just kidding. Gavin only says about eight words a day, and three of those are “What’s for dinner?”. (Oh by the way, if you don’t know what Periscope is, turn off the weather channel for a minute and do a search on the google.) Score one for technology.

On Sunday, Jax’s team made it to the championship game of their tournament (which they won by the way), so I wasn’t able to get back in time for the dance recital.

If this were 20 years ago I’d have to rely on the explanation of others to hear how good Scarlett did, but within minutes of the performance being over Rach had it on Youtube. I actually watched the video while driving back from Columbia. And before you start to judge me, you should know that watching a video while driving wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the ugly cry I had going while watching the video while driving. Don’t bother calling the cops, I’m sure the statute of limitations is up by now. Score 2 for technology.

One of the major flaws with technology, however, is that you have to know it exists in order to adequately make use of it. Jaxon also had a school project to do this weekend, which involved taking a stuffed animal with him everywhere he went and taking pictures to document their adventure. He would then bring in the pictures to share with the class. Pictures…on paper…that you could hold in your hand…without your phone….like the old days. How do you even print a picture nowadays? Do they exist? Would we have to go to a museum to get them printed? I had no idea. And before I go any further with this story, let me just state that I take full responsibility for this mishap. This was my fault. I could’ve used the google to figure it out but I didn’t. I listened to my mother, who is wonderful, and awesome, and we love her, and we couldn’t do life without her. However she is not the most technologically savvy person that I know. She told me that you can buy those disposable cameras to take pictures and then they’ll develop them right there in front of you. Now based on my knowledge of printing out pictures, this seemed totally legit. The last time I had to put a picture on a piece of paper, I was in college and Bill Clinton was president. Red flags should have been raised, though, when I went to Rite-Aid and found one lonely, dusty disposable camera in the ‘Ghosts of Electronics Past’ aisle right next to the fax machine toner. Fast forward to Monday afternoon when Rach is driving around all of creation looking for a 1-hour photo developer and at every stop FaceTiming me to show me the electronic Do-It-Yourself photo stations that print out digital pictures from phones, thumb drives, CDs, SD cards, etc. And in the most disappointing voice you could imagine, “You’re not very good at this.” Technology 2, Jeff 0.

Time Management

2015-11-12T21:33:00.002-05:00

Time Management

The line between being good parenting and horrible parenting can be a bit blurry. Being a good parent can sometimes feel horrible, and being a horrible parent can sometimes feel fantastic. For Example, it feels terrible when I tell my 3 year old, Stella, that it’s too late for her to have a cookie and then she gives me the quivering bottom lip, or worse, runs upstairs and cries with her sweet little face in her hands.

On the other hand it feels great when I tell Stella to make herself her own peanut butter and jelly sandwich because Daddy’s too busy setting his fantasy football lineup for the weekend. I digress….

On Wednesday nights, Rach and I have a small group at the church. We scheduled it on Wednesdays because it's the same time that the kids go to Fuel, our teen ministry. Of all of our kids, Scarlett enjoys Fuel the most. She's our little social butterfly. No, really, she dressed up for Halloween this year as a Social Butterfly. (She's very clever).

So last night we were getting ready to leave and Scarlett was not downstairs.

Side note: Getting ready to leave at our house is a giant mess 100% of the time. We hardly ever know how many cars we have to take, which kids are coming with us, who has to go where after, which cars have car seats in them, how many of our kids have friends over, who has shoes on, etc, etc. So we view our downstairs as kind of like a doctor's office waiting room. Maybe you’re waiting 10 minutes, maybe it’s 2 hours. Either way, it's always a point of contention.

Side Side note: We are late to our destination approximately 85% of the time. (FYI, 50% of all statistics are made up) The reason we are late so often is that Rach thinks we have a magic carpet, or a teleportation device or something. If we have to be somewhere for noon, we leave at noon. If we have to be there at 11, we leave at 11. It doesn't matter how close or far away the destination is, Rach thinks we can get there in zero minutes. Unfortunately, the magic carpet gene is hereditary. Scarlett is a carrier.

So back to the story. We're walking out the door, I'm holding Stella, Rach is holding Stella's shoes, Gavin is holding Rach's purse, and so I yell up the stairs to Scarlett that we're leaving. We all file into the clown car, get Stella buckled, etc, then I turn around, "Where's Scarlett?" I look back and get nothing but shoulder shrugs as if I asked who left their plate on the counter. Rach and I proceed to have this conversation (Now keep in mind that at this point it is 6:45, we’re supposed to be there at 6:45, and our magic carpet is in the shop so it’ll take us 15-20 minutes to get there)

Rach: Did you tell her we were leaving?

Me: I yelled up to her.

Rach: Well she knows what time we have to leave.

Me: She was downstairs earlier. Should we leave her?

Rach: It’s up to you.

Me: We’re going to be late.

Rach: It’s up to you. I don’t care either way.

Me (starts to back out of the driveway): You sure?

Rach: It doesn’t matter.

So we left. And I’m driving down the road, just conflicted as all get out in my head, “It’s probably the right thing to do, right? No, that’s mean. But it will teach her a lesson about punctuality. Or it will teach her to hate your guts. At least she’ll hate both Rach and I…” Just then Rach’s phone rings and it’s Scarlett trying to Facetime. Crap! Rach answers, immediately points the phone at me and says, “Look, your dad is driving. He left you.” Ruthless!! So she hands me the phone and now I have to look her in the eye as I give her the crap dad lecture about how she knows what time we have to leave, and we’re going to be late, and responsibility, shmesponsibility, blah, blah, blah, I am a horrible person.

One more side note: When I was a kid, the idea of video telephone calls seemed amazing. 1980s movies about the future always featured video phone calls as if to say 'Look how cool the future is going to be!' I waited so long for it to exist, and now I'm stuck using FaceTime to awkwardly stare at my 13 year old as she shoots evil eye daggers back at me. Screw you technology.

Anyway, I try to talk myself into the possibility that maybe she’ll learn a lesson about being on time, and this will resonate into her adult life. Then I resigned to the fact that it’s more likely that she’ll be on her psychiatrist’s couch in twenty years trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong. But maybe, just maybe, she’ll be on time to that appointment. Small victories.

A Fair Chance

2013-11-11T09:33:00.001-05:00

I realize that this is a bit of a contrarian viewpoint, but I hate the fair. Seriously, I hate the fair. I don’t just dislike it. I hate hate hate hate it. It’s gross. It’s expensive. It’s dangerous. And it’s gross. I feel the same way about fair season as I do about flu season: I try my best to avoid it every year, but eventually one of my kids is going to suck me in. And despite having exhibit 1, exhibit 2, and exhibit 3 in my fair-hating defense, people still react to my fair hating opinion as if I told them I hate puppies. (For the record, I do not hate puppies). Last night, against my better judgment, I agreed to meet Rach and the three little kids (Scarlett, Jax, and Stella) at the fair. Rach and I agreed that it would be best if we didn’t tell the three big kids (Tori, Gavin, and Cole) where we were going. Even though they were all at basketball practice and wouldn’t have been able to go anyway, they were sure to be jealous and angry. And living under the same roof as three angry jealous teenagers is not my idea of a picnic (But it might be worth it just to hear, for irony’s sake, “That’s not fair!”). So I left straight from work to the Ladson Fairgrounds, which as far as I can tell has absolute zero usefulness the other 350 days out of the year. I guess that’s how long it takes for the fair smell to go away. As I pulled into the park the parking attendant directed me into the ‘Corn Dog’ parking lot. I called Rach to see where she was, and she informed me that she was in the ‘Cotton Candy’ parking lot. Now I am not a parking lot scientist, but I would imagine that normal parking lots on planet earth are separated into distinct numbers and letters so that a person would be able to easily navigate their way through the parking lot. For example, if I pulled into section 3B and Rach pulled into section 5F, I could reasonably deduce her location using my knowledge of both the alphabet and the English numbering system. BUT HOW ON EARTH DO I FIND THE COTTON CANDY PARKING LOT IF I AM STANDING IN THE CORN DOG PARKING LOT?!?!?! Am I supposed to guess? Did these geniuses organize the parking lot sections based on fat calories? At least that would make some sense. If you started in the ‘Bottled Water’ parking lot you could make your way right up to the gate past the ‘Fried Butter’ parking lot. But alas, this was not the case. Instead, I wandered aimlessly from section to section in what I now refer to as “Type II Diabetes” Parking Lot until finally Racheal called and said she was already inside the gate. My fair experience was not off to a great start. Things smoothed over a little bit once we got inside though. We met up with some friends, Jax and Scarlett were running around riding rides (This may come as a shocker, but I don’t particularly care for the rides at the fair. You want me to pay you $20 so I can hop on a hunk of sheet metal that you assembled in the middle of the night for a little more than minimum wage? Umm, no thanks. But my kids want to ride!) Even Stella seemed to be legitimately enjoying herself. However it is pretty tough keeping a toddler in her stroller when the sky is lit up like Redneck Las Vegas. She wanted to run around just like her brother and sister. After all, why should they be the only ones that have a chance to win the prize known in the medical community as Hep-C. So I spent the next hour chasing Stella around, making sure she didn’t go where she wasn’t supposed to go, and making sure she didn’t touch anything that she wasn’t supposed to touch; which was everything. The fair is not solely about riding rides that spin you around until your eyes pop out of your head and you want to vomit. It’s also about gorging yourself on fried food until you want to vomit. Some of the gourmet fair cuisine that we ate: chicken wings, pulled pork, a corndog, sweet potato fries, an elephant ear (which are not actually made from real elephants, who knew?), a Stromboli, a cinnamon roll the size of my head, fried cookie dough, and we washed it all down with a 327oz souvenir cup of lemonade. ‘Merica. Apart from the rides and the food, I’m not sure what else you are supposed to do at the fair. We walked around for a while. There was a band. And a flower exhibit. And a lady riding a horse. And a bunch of games that you could play to win an inflatable smurf, but that was about it. And I couldn’t even tell which smurf it was. It wasn’t Papa Smurf, or Smurfette, or Hefty, or Brainy, or even Vanity. It looked like a generic smurf that stayed in the background. Who wants to win an inflatable smurf that isn’t even a main character? Pfft. But I digress. By now we had been walking around for about an hour and Stella was too tired to walk, but not tired enough to stay in her stroller, which basically meant I had to hold her for the rest of the night. Being that it was already past Stella’s bedtime (and mine too), I volunteered to take Stella home to give her a bath and get her in bed. A small part of me feels guilty for using Stella as my ticket to escape. But a bigger, much smarter part of me thinks that is silly, and left before you could say ‘clogged artery’. During the 25 minute walk back to the Corn Dog Parking Lot, Stella would point at anything that was lit up (which is everything) and smile. She’d talk to me, then she’d talk to the lights. Then she’d say something that made herself laugh and I’d laugh with her. When we got outside the gate and there were no more lights to laugh at, she put her head on my shoulder and patted my back. The walk back to the car couldn’t be long enough. I even slowed down. At that moment and that moment only, I thanked God for the fair.

A King-Sized Chicken Coup.....

2011-05-04T21:04:00.006-04:00

I know what you're probably thinking. You're probably thinking:

Hey genius, chickens live in a 'coop', not a 'coup'.

And my response would be:

Stop being so condescending. And I know that chickens live in a coop, but these chickens are literally TRYING TO TAKE OVER MY LIFE! I'm caught in the midst of a chicken COUP!

Oh wait? You thought I was joking when I said that Rach wanted to get chickens, didn't you? Why on earth would I joke about Rach wanting to get a bunch of chickens and build a chicken coop for them in the back of our garage? Why would I joke about that?

So yes, Rach went out and bought 4 baby chickens. And yes, they sleep in our room. And yes, they really do chirp all night long. And yes, I wake up 400 times throughout the middle of the night thinking that it's morning time on a farm. And yes, I think all of this is crazy. And yes, this is a recent photo of Rach and I.

People who know and love my wife often ask me how I can stay calm in the face of one of Rach's ridiculous plans. It's quite simple, actually. As soon as Rach starts telling me about one of her hair-brain schemes (For example, I want to raise chickens in our garage so we don't have to buy eggs anymore......), I just start looking around for cameras. No, seriously. I start checking the walls, the lights, the air-conditioning vents; any place that has a good vantage point that you would be able to hide a tiny camera. Because it is hard for me to believe that Rach is unilaterally coming up with some of these hijinks. I'm convinced that I'm the subject of something along the lines of The Truman Show. I'm not even joking. Rach starts diving into her plan to raise chickens, and I immediately think of Ed Harris sitting up in his moon studio, coming up with ridiculous plot arcs just to get ratings. Rach is describing how she's going to cut a hole in the back wall of the garage, and I'm mentally retracing my childhood to make sure that none of my friends were actually actors.

Anyway, just to stay engaged in the conversation, I ask Rach, "Well what are these chickens going to eat?"

And she responds in a I-can't-believe-you-don't-know-this kind of way, "Pffft, I mean, there's more stuff that they can eat than stuff that they can't eat."

Wait? What? What does that even mean? Does that mean that these free-loading chickens are going to start digging in my refrigerator? Am I going to have to start competing with the chickens for the last piece of......steak? (Ooops, I almost said chicken). Do we just feed them hot dogs and macaroni and cheese every night like we do to the other kids? There's so many questions.

So then Rach starts telling me how she is going to--correction-- how she already cut a hole in the back of the garage so that she can build an indoor/outdoor chicken coop for LuLu, Lola, Lyla, and Sassafrass. (Yes, those are the chicken's names. There's no end to this ridiculousness. Jax wanted to name one of them Uncle B-Lo, but I'm not sure if my brother would've gotten offended or not.) Anyway, as Rach is telling me about the indoor/outdoor chicken coop, I am looking at her the same way that I would be looking at a unicorn that was telling me this same story; just utter disbelief. She senses my disbelief, so she says, "No really, I talked to your dad about it already. He thinks it's a great idea. He's going to help me build the chicken coop!"

I hear this, and the first thought that pops into my head was, "Oh, great. There are exactly TWO people on planet Earth that do NOT think this is crazy; I'm married to one of them, and I share 50% of my DNA with the other. What chance do I have to be sane? I should just give up."

But in all seriousness, she really does love these chickens (okay, maybe not in 'all seriousness'). I know she loves the chickens, because she tells me all the time. She'll say things like, "I love these chickens. Look at how cute they are. Look. Seriously, look at them. Look at them! I mean, really, have you ever seen anything so cute?" And I want to say, "Actually, YES! Yes, I have!" But I don't. I just smile, and stare at it the way that I would stare at pictures of a stranger's baby. Maybe they're a little cute right now because they're so small, but chickens don't stay cute. You don't ever see paintings of chickens playing poker. Nobody makes full calendars of cute little chickens playing with balls of yarn. They're not traditionally adorable animals.

And it throws me off when she asks me questions like, "What do you think they're thinking about right now?" And of course, my response is, "Well, if I had to guess, I'd say HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY I HAVE TO POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY!"

That's probably what they're thinking, but this is what we humans hear: CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP!

Then, the other night, when I actually started typing up this blog, Rach was on the internet trying to figure out why LuLu has indigestion (I swear, I couldn't make this stuff up). So Mrs. Old McDonald and I had this exchange:

Rach: Oh, look, here's a lady that is having problems with her chicks too.

Me: What website is that?

Rach: It's, umm, www.backyardchickens.com

Me: Oh, really? Someone at backyardchickens.com is having problems with their chickens? How silly of me to think that this whole chicken fiasco is ludicrous.....

So there's an entire website devoted to raising chickens in your backyard. Something tells me that this is not what Al Gore had in mind when he invented the internet. But it got me to thinking: What if Rach is on to something? What if the whole world really has gone crazy? What if our economic system DOES collapse in the next five years and we're forced to live off of the land? Maybe we SHOULD take steps to be prepared. Maybe owning chickens in our backyard is the LEAST crazy thing that I could do. Now if you'll excuse me, Rach and I are going to look at a goat that we found on craigslist. Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen?

A King-Sized Salvation.........

2011-04-21T07:36:00.009-04:00

About two and a half years ago, Rach started dragging me to church. And when I say dragging, I mean dragging. Most of the time, I would stop short of kicking the dirt; whining and crying and throwing a tantrum like a 2 year old who just got told he can't ride the merry-go-round outside of Wal-Mart because he's too young to understand that you don't touch anything at Wal-Mart that you don't have to. MOST of the time I wouldn't react like that, but I would try to sabotage the church outing. It was easy at first. I just wouldn't wake Rach up. I would 'accidentally' sleep past my alarm (even though I wake up at 4:45 every morning with or without an alarm). But Rach wouldn't buy it. She'd get mad at me. And if there's one thing in life that I try to avoid, it's Rach getting mad at me (if there's two things, it's Rach getting mad at me.......and cockroaches), which made my life miserable. So then I started to wake her up, but I would use her sleepiness against her. In my quietest, sweetest voice imaginable, I'd whisper, "Rach, Rach, It's 7:30. Do you want to wake up? Or keep sleeping?" And she'd let out a bear-like grunt. Then I'd say, "Grunt one more time if you want to keep sleeping." She'd let out another grunt, and I'd go to the gym. But she would still get mad at me. And my life would still be miserable.

So then I figured, Eh, it's probably just a phase. Rach goes through crazy phases like this all the time. For instance, lately she's been convinced that the entire world economic system is going down in flames. And she's probably right about that. But the crazy part is that she wants to convert our garage into a chicken coup, and hide goats in our backyard so that way we can have eggs and milk after the apocalypse. For mine and my neighbors' sake, I'm hoping this is just a phase. Because I can foresee myself three years from now, sitting in my backyard, trying to milk my goat, wondering where my life went wrong, and then my neighbor comes over to tell me to stop letting my chickens crap in his yard.

So anyway, we went to a couple of different churches, but just couldn't find one that we liked.....or that could keep me awake. After about 5 different snore-fest churches, we found one that was more my speed. The first thing I noticed when I walked through the front door was a full service coffee shop style cafe with homemade muffins. HOMEMADE MUFFINS! And it must've been around Thanksgiving time, because there was a sign on the wall advertising for the new Pumpkin Spice Smoothie. So at first, I didn't look at it so much as 'going to church' as I did 'eating a banana nut muffin and drinking a pumpkin spice smoothie'. So every Sunday, I'd get my muffin and my smoothie, and we'd go up to the balcony to watch the service. And apart from the deliciousness of this church, the production value was astounding. Week after week, the pastor would make me laugh, there would be something like a 70 person musical act, some kind of dramatic performance, and a message at the end that tied it all together.

And more and more I started to relate to the message; the relationship building, the marriage tips, the importance of family, the roles of parenting, the community involvement. It turned into a weekly life-coaching session. A sort of guide to help me be a role model to my kids. I've never been a religious person. I didn't grow up in the church. And I've read all the stories about corrupt churches and morally questionable church leaders. I'vve had a hard time fully immersing myself into the idea that Jesus was anything but just a great man. But this church; this church was helping me become a better person. And for a long time, I was able to separate the 'good deeds' message from the Jesus message. I didn't have to believe EVERYTHING, did I?

And I went on feeling this way up until about 2 weeks ago, when Rach was in Israel. (Read more about that here) During the Sunday service while she was gone, they showed a video message from Israel of our head pastor. As I was watching, I kept hoping they'd pan out and show Rach, just so I could see her, but they didn't. But I remember thinking that seeing that video, and being in the church made me feel a lot closer to her. She had dragged me to that church for so long, that it felt like she was there with me. The service ended, and we left, and I didn't really think about it much after that. But the following Wednesday, I got a strange call from one of the pastors at the church, Luke. It was weird, I had never spoken to him directly, but I immediately recognized his voice over the phone from all of the speeches that he's given over the past few years. He proceeded to tell me that they were putting together the Easter production, and one of the other pastors said that I would be a perfect fit for one of the parts. He said,

"Hey, uh, I was talking with Dave, and we feel, with your physique, and your look, that you would would make a great, umm, Satan."

I quickly responded with, "So Dave thinks I look like Satan, huh?" But only kidding.

Anyway, we talked for a minute about the role, and what it involved, and we decided to meet up at the church later that night to meet with he and his wife, Megan. And I immediately began to think of that past Sunday, and how I felt being at the church. This couldn't be an accident, could it? Then I started thinking of ways that this could all be part of one of Rach's mastermind schemes, and that she was just tugging on her puppet strings from halfway around the earth. But either way, what are the chances that they call me NOW, when I seemingly needed it the most?

And so I start thinking to myself: there has got to be a reason for this. Just like there's a reason for everything else that has happened in my life up to this point. There's a reason that I'm not dead or in jail for some of the stuff that I used to do. There's a reason that Rach decided to take a chance on a smart, lazy guy with no car or no job that lived with his parents (well, maybe there's not a reason for that. That still seems like a bad decision to me). But there is a reason that we've been blessed with so much. I refuse to believe that I'm just really lucky.

And so I get to the church that night, and everyone I meet seems unbelievably welcoming, and warm, and positive. And I felt that same feeling wash over me that I had felt on Sunday. That feeling of comfort, and of closeness. That comfort level allowed me to talk to Megan and Luke as if I had known them for years, even though we had just met. I told them about our family, and about my struggles with my faith, and how I was just starting to 'get it'. Even though I don't fully know what 'it' is.

After the meeting, we decided that I'd go ahead and try to be Satan, but if I didn't feel comfortable, or if they thought I was terrible, that I didn't have to do it, no hard feelings. A few days later, at the first rehearsal, I was amazed at all of the gifted young people that they have at this church. Singers, dancers, musicians; you name it, they got it. It was unbelievable. I figured that even if I was terrible, they had enough talented people in the building that no one would even notice. And it was interesting to peel back the onion a little bit and witness the kind of effort that went into all of those productions that I had been watching over the last few years.

And after the first practice, Luke pulled me aside to talk. He wanted to make sure that I was comfortable being Satan (or acting like Satan, I'm not actually BEING Satan). We talked about the meaning of the play, and the message. And then he asked me, "How long have you been a Christian?" And I really didn't know how to answer. I hadn't really been a Christian. Sure I had been baptized, and I received my first communion, but I had never made a conscious decision as an adult to put God first. But I do know this, for the past six or so years, I've made a concerted effort to be a great father, and a great husband. To put Racheal first. To put my kids first. To put my family first. I've wanted to be the perfect husband. I've wanted to be the perfect dad. But I'm not. I am a failure. I've been trying my absolute best for 6 years, and I've failed. I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I make mistakes all the time. Just ask Rach, she'll tell you. She may even have them alphabetized. But God doesn't care about my mistakes. He just wants me to keep trying. He's got my back, whether I'm aware of it or not. No matter how far away from Him I've gotten, He's been there for me. And that's when I decided, that I would like to thank Him for that. I'd like to honor him for watching out for me.

And so I looked at Luke and said, "I don't know. I don't think I have been a Christian. I think I'm ready to, but I'm not really even sure how I would go about doing it." And he said very matter of fact, "Well are you ready now?"

And without any fanfare, or any ceremony, or any fireworks, Luke put his hand on my shoulder, and he prayed for me. And just like that, I gave my life to God. I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart. I am a Christian. If you knew me ten years ago, you probably won't believe it. But it's true. Rach's 3 year plan has finally come to fruition. (She's like a long-haired Yoda).

And as my first act to honor Jesus, I'm going to be Satan. And I'm excited about it. This production is going to be amazing. I think everyone should come check it out. If you want to see a great Easter service, or if you want to see a great show, or if you just want to come see me dressed as Satan, or if you like Pumpkin Spiced Smoothies, or if you know my wife and you don't want her to be mad at you, I think you should come.

We're doing 4 shows this weekend at Cathedral of Praise on Ashley Phosphate. You can get more info here. I hope to see you there.

The King-Sized Longing......

2011-04-07T06:59:00.006-04:00

As most of you already know, Rach is in Israel right now. Yes, that's right, Israel. Trust me, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking,

'Really?! She went to Israel now?! Does she have any idea what is going on over there right now?!'

But don't get confused, Israel was not her first choice for a vacation. But apparently there weren't too many flights going to Libya or Japan right now. Just kidding. I realize that it's not exactly an ideal time to be traveling to the middle east right now, but Rach has been wanting to go for years. And if she waited to go to Israel until there was peace in the middle east; well that would be like postponing your Mardi Gras trip because you're waiting for New Orleans to adopt prohibition. It's just not gonna happen.

Anyway, I'm sure your next question would be,

'How on earth would you let your wife go to Israel by herself?'

And my response would be, If you think that I've ever 'let' Racheal do anything, then you don't really know her too well. I 'let' Racheal do stuff about like the coyote 'let' the roadrunner get away. There's not much I could do about it. Besides, we talked about it back in September when she was thinking about going. In fact, we had this conversation:

Rach: The church is going to Israel in April. I really want to go. Would you want to go?

Me (Using the default high pitch voice that you only use when you're stalling; trying to come up with an excuse, and as you repeat yourself, your voice gets higher and higher. And you end up sounding like a mix between Adam Lambert and Rain Man.): Oh, Israel? Umm yeah. Yeah, absolutely, yeah, definitely. Definitely Israel.

Rach (sniffing out my lie like a drug dog): Really? Would you really want to go?

Me: Umm, no, not really. I don't think I'd like to go.

Rach: You really wouldn't want to go?! Why Not!?!

Me (now just trying to stay above water): Well, you know what? Maybe I do want to go. It could be fun. Yes, I think I would like to go.

Rach (At this point, she's working my brain like a speed bag): Do you want to go because you really want to go? Or do you want to go because you don't want me to go by myself?

Me (waving the white flag): Umm, pretty much because I don't want you to go by yourself.

Rach: Well I don't want you to go if you're just going to ruin my trip...

Ouch. Ruin her trip? At first, that seemed pretty harsh. But it only took me 2 seconds to picture myself in Israel, taking a tour of some ancient temple in the desert; waiting until the end of the tour, then raising my hand, and in my best Pee-Wee Herman voice, saying, "Where's the basement? Aren't we going to see the basement?" And then Rach looking at me in disgust. And then I thought to myself how many Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome references I'd make. Or how many times I'd quote History of the World: Part III. And then I realized that, yes, I would definitely ruin her trip.

Besides, logistically, it made sense. If I didn't go, we didn't have to find babysitters for the kids. And it cut the trip expenses in half. So that was that. It was decided. Rach was going to Israel. For ten days. Which is an incredibly long time for us. It's the longest amount of time that we've been apart since we got married. So this whole week, it's just been me, the kids, and my parents; who moved up here last week. Well, by 'moved up here', I mean they have their camper parked in my driveway, Eddie Griswold style. My dad and I could've had this conversation.

Clark: So, when did you get the tenament on wheels?
Eddie: Oh, that uh, that there's an RV. Yeah, yeah, I borrowed it off a buddy of mine. He took my house, I took the RV. It's a good looking vehicle, ain't it?
Clark: Yeah, it looks so nice parked in the driveway.
[Raises glass to his mouth]
Eddie: Yeah, it sure does. But, don't you go falling in love with it now, because, we're taking it with us when we leave here next month.

I'm just kidding. Actually, my parents have been great. My dad gets up and brings the kids to school and picks them up. My mom brings Scarlett to dance practice. I've got it made. I haven't had to cook dinner one time since they got here. It's like I'm on my own mini vacation (without the 16 hour flight). Sadly, though, most of my vacation has been spent thinking about my wife. All day long, I look at the clock and add 7 hours, just to see what she might be doing. When I wake up, I think, 'Oh, I bet she's eating lunch.' When I'm eating lunch, I think 'She must be getting to her hotel right about now.' And I've even been waking up at night at around 11 or 12 just because that's around the time she'd be waking up in the morning. I know, it's sad. But don't laugh, I think this is probably what dogs do when their humans go on vacation. Just pacing around the house; going from one couch to another; getting water, making long, pathetic sighs, "HHhhhhhhhhhhggggmmmmm". The only difference between me and a lonely dog is that I have a job.....and a gym membership. Seriously, I've never gotten so much work done, or played so much basketball as I have this week. It's the only thing that I can do to keep my mind off of her.

And I'm not just saying this because I know that she'll read it. I really do mean it. I really do miss her. It IS somewhat comforting to think, though, that after 5 years of marriage, I want nothing more than to be with my wife. I know it sounds hokey. But a lot of people don't get there. A lot of people don't get to say that. And then I start to think to myself, 'Maybe I should've gone with her. Maybe I should've just sucked it up and pretend to enjoy myself just to be with her.' But then, just as I'm second guessing my decision to stay on American soil, Rach sends me this text message:

"I can't wait to bring you back here next year"

And I immediately think to myself, "Noooooooooooooo!!!!"

And then I think, "Well, at least I have a year to think up an excuse this time."

And then I think, "And maybe I'll just be able to copy and paste this blog post."

And then I think, "Or maybe she'll change her mind."

And then I think back on this past week and think, "Or maybe I should just go get my passport".

The King-Sized Alarm Clock.....

2011-03-24T08:06:00.006-04:00

I don't really require a whole lot of sleep. I usually try to go to bed between 10 and 10:30, and Rach usually lets me go to sleep by at least 11:30. What are we doing for that hour, you ask? It usually goes something like this:

10:15 pm - I fall asleep.

10:16 pm - After just coming out of the bathroom, Rach says, "Hey babe, can you go turn off the bathroom light?"

10:17 pm - I return from the bathroom and get back into bed.

10:18 pm - I fall asleep again.

10:19 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, have you seen the cat? I think she's outside. Can you go let her in?"

10:24 pm - After finding the cat, I return to bed.

10:25 pm - I fall asleep.

10:26 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, can you go put Jaxon back in his bed?"

10:28 pm - I carry Jax to his room, and return to bed.

10:30 pm - I fall asleep.

10:37 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, would you rather have another baby? Or a new house?"

10:57 pm - We wrap up that gem of a conversation, and I fall asleep.

10:58 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, can you rub my back until I fall asleep?"

11:14 pm - Fingers cramped, Rach falls asleep.

11:15 pm - I fall asleep.

You see, if there's one thing that Rach hates about me, it's my uncanny ability to fall asleep at a moments notice. She hates it. She hates it more than she hates when I quote Joe Dirt. Dang. She hates it so much that sometimes, when she runs out of creative ways to wake me up, she'll just kick me.

So anyway, last night, I got to sleep at about 11:45. It actually took me about 2 minutes to fall asleep, though, because it was so hot in the house. It was about 75 degrees and balmy outside last night, and I think it was about 80 degrees inside. Why no air conditioner, you ask? I'll explain. In November, we had a $400+ electric bill, so we cut the circuit breaker to the AC off. When it's cold, get a blanket. When it's hot, turn the fan on. Rach and I decided that we're not flipping the breaker back on until we all look like the cast from A Time To Kill. Remember how sweaty everybody was in that movie? I can't watch that movie without taking a shower after. But we're not turning the AC back on until I look like this.

So at some point in the middle of the night, I'm laying in a puddle of my own sweat, and I hear a phone ringing downstairs. But it doesn't sound like a cell phone, it sounds like an old rotary phone like the ones from the '60s. It takes me a second for me to realize what it is, but then I remember that Scarlett had told me she was going to set her alarm to wake up early. I roll over to look at the clock....4:00 am....4:00 am? Really? So I went in to her room and woke her up, "Scarlett...Scarlett...Doonie....wake up. Wake up, baby." She started to slowly, confusedly open her eyes, "What daddy?" I said, "Scarlett, your alarm is going off downstairs. I wasn't sure if you had an important appointment at 4 in the morning that I didn't know about. Maybe you should get up and go turn your alarm off." And she stumbled downstairs to turn off her alarm. So I go get back in bed, and at this point, it's about 4:15. I usually wake up at 4:35. Oh well, twenty minutes of sleep is better than nothing. 20 minutes of sleep is also better than 14 minutes of sleep, because at 4:29 am, I get abruptly woken up by the extreme loudness of "CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKA CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKA!" So I think to myself, some inconsiderate shmuck turned on their sprinklers at 4:30 in the morning? Who on earth would be crazy enough to do that? Then I realized that the sprinklers were hitting OUR windows, and remembered that Rach was working out in the yard yesterday. And I realized that I was married to the inconsiderate shmuck. Did I say schmuck? I meant lovable, eccentric queen. So I get up and run downstairs, because in between the CHITs and the CHICKAs, I can hear the water hitting the neighbors' car. And in an effort to keep them from hating us any more than they already do, I went outside to turn off the water. It was still pitch black outside, so I could barely see, but I though I could make out the trajectory of the sprinkler. But keep in mind, it's 4:30 in the morning, and I don't think I had all of my wits about me. I made it to the side of the house without getting wet, but just as I got to the spicket, I got smacked in the face with about 4 CHITs, "CHIT! CHIT! CHIT! CHIT!" And I'm soaked. From head to toe. I walked back inside, wet and deflated, ready to start my day. I had to go back upstairs first, so I could get dressed like a ninja in the dark. You know, because I wouldn't want to wake Rach up. And as I'm walking up the stairs, I hear a bell tower clanging in my room. Bell tower? What the...why? Apparently, Rach set her alarm for 4:45 for some reason. I don't think she had any intentions of getting up, because she was still sound asleep. No, I think she was just making sure I wasn't getting any sleep. Out of spite. But I just gotta keep on keepin on. Because......

"Life's a Garden, Dig It!" (Joe Dirt, 2001)

The King-Sized Birthday Surprise.....

2011-03-03T20:40:00.019-05:00

Last week, Rach asked me, "What do you want to do for your birthday?"

I'm not real big on birthdays, so I said, "Oh, I don't know, maybe take the kids out to eat or something. It doesn't matter."

"Okay, good. Because I made plans already. Do you think you'll be able to leave work by 5?"

Looking back, I realize now that she was just asking me as a 'courtesy question'. You know, when your wife asks you something just to keep up the facade that you actually have any kind of real input to your existence. Things like: "Which shoes should I wear with this dress?" or "Do you think we should rip out all the carpet in the house?" or "Should we sell this house and move to a place called Wassammassaw?" My answers don't really matter. The outcome stays the same.

Anyway, on Monday at five o'clock I texted Rach to tell her I was leaving work. She texted me back and said not to go home, but to go straight to the mall. The mall? Really? Is she taking me to the food court for my birthday? Is she going to treat me to some Chinese food samples? Maybe the arcade? Whatever. If there's one thing I've learned during our marriage, it's that it is pointless for me to try to guess what's going to happen next. When I got to the mall, she texted me, 'Go to Express. Ask for Christi.'

At this point, I'm starting to feel kind of like a secret agent. But the kind of secret agent that can only accept mundane missions from his wife. So maybe not so much secret agent-like. When I walked into Express, I must've had the same blank, lost expression on my face that Obama had when he walked into the White House the first time, "I think I'm supposed to be here, but I have no idea what I'm doing." Luckily, my confusion was tacitly written on my face, because the girl working there came right up to me, and said, "Are you Jeff?" I responded with, "Ummm, yes?", as if I was confused by my name at this point. "Okay, come with me." She took me to the front section of the store and gave me the option of 3 different types of shirts, and 2 different types of pants. Apparently, Rach had called ahead, and explained to the girl that my current wardrobe consisted mainly of colored wifebeaters and camouflage shorts. Limiting my options was a good idea in theory, but unfortunately my fashion ineptitude foiled their efforts. I still picked out pants that were too big and a shirt that didn't match my huge new pants. Even Jaxon has a better fashion sense than I do at this point.

After I mishandled my wardrobe outing, Rach texted me the address of where I needed to go next. The text led me to a nice elegant seafood restaurant where Rach was waiting for me. The restaurant was so nice that Rach and I were less than half the age of the next youngest person there. Seriously, everyone in the restaurant was in their 60s. Even our waiter looked like he had a bad hip. When he read us the specials, he spoke very loudly, complained about the poor lighting, and confused himself. Okay, maybe not, but the whole place was old. The food was good though, but Rach kept looking at her watch because she was worried about not being able to make it to our next "appointment". She kept referring to our appointment. 'We're going to be late for our appointment.' Appointment? What kind of appointment? A movie maybe? What else could it be? A concert? A comedy show? But it's a Monday night? Oh well, I guess I'll find out soon enough.

So when we left, I gotta say, I was pretty anxious about our next 'appointment'. But a happy kind of anxious. It had been a nice relaxing night up to this point, and I had a feeling Rach was going to outdo herself. As she was directing me where to go, it didn't make sense. We were heading back to an area that I knew pretty well, and there wasn't anything exciting going on there. Just a bar, a couple of night clubs, a few restaurants, and a.......oh no........no.......no........can't be.......NOOOOOOO!........It's a.......a.......COUPLES SPA! Awwww CRAP! I didn't see that one coming. I felt like a dog that just realized he was going to the vet.

See, here's the thing. I don't like people touching me. Especially strangers. I'm weird, I know. But it just gives me the heebie jeebies. That's why I've never gotten a massage before. Not to mention that I'm sort of ticklish. Rach knows all of this, but apparently she thought that my dislike for stranger-rubbing was akin to my dislike for coffee. Because she doesn't believe me that I don't like coffee either. She'll ask me to taste her coffee. I'll decline. She'll tell me that I'm gonna like it. I'll decline. She'll tell me that "I'll barely be able to taste the coffee in it". I'll decline. Finally, my distaste of coffee will be trumped by my eagerness to get out of the merry-go-round conversation that I'm stuck in. And I'll taste it. And it'll disgust me. And she won't believe me. We've done this about nine different times with various coffee-containing substances.

But maybe this would be different. Maybe I WOULD enjoy it. Maybe I just needed to give it a chance. Maybe my reluctance to have my body parts kneaded by a complete stranger would go away. Maybe. But I doubt it. After we signed our release forms, they walked us into our dimly lit torture chamber. The lady told us to strip down to whatever we're comfortable with, and then lie down face-down on the table. And that prompted this exchange:

Me: Strip down to whatever you're comfortable with? Does that mean I should leave my socks on?

Rach (already completely naked as if she was wearing breakaway clothes): Just take all your clothes off. Don't be stupid.

Me: Shouldn't I just leave my underwear on?

(But on the inside, I was thinking: Why would I take my underwear off? Are they going to massage any lower than the top of my underwear? Or even worse, any higher than the bottom of my underwear? What kind of place is this? What if there's a fire, and I have to run out of here in my birthday suit. Get it? Birthday suit? I kid.)

Rach: Relax, it's going to be some girl massaging you anyway. You don't want your underwear to get in the way.

Me: Get in the way of what!?!

At this point, I wanted to tell her that the gender of my masseuse wouldn't (at least I thought it wouldn't) matter. I would feel just as skittish (or at least I thought I would feel just as skittish) with a girl masseuse as I would with a dude masseuse. I wanted to tell her that, but I knew that I was running out of time to make my underwear decision. The masseuses (Is that the correct plural form of masseuse?) would be coming in any second. I couldn't decide what to do. Underwear? Or no underwear? I was frozen. Could not decide. I would be a horrible bomb technician, by the way. Finally, in a gut reaction, I threw off my underwear and jumped under the covers. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

A split second later, two masseuseses walked in; a girl masseuse, and a man-sseuse. And as the man-sseuse walked towards me, I noticed that he wasn't slowing down near Rach's table. And then he passed her up and came closer. Oh, I thought, he must need to grab something from this side of the room. Then he put some lotion on his giant meat-hook man-hands, started rubbing his hands together, looked at me and said, "Well I guess I'll be working on you today."

........Wait.......What??????

It happened so fast, I didn't really get a chance to think about it. It was probably the same feeling Andy Dufresne had the first time The Sisters cornered him in the shower. And just to recap, in case you weren't paying attention; I'M LAYING BUTT NAKED ON A TABLE WITH SOME STRANGE DUDE ABOUT TO RUB LOTION ON MY BACK!! AND NOTHING BUT A LITTLE BLANKET IN BETWEEN HIM AND MY JUNK!! And this is supposed to be relaxing? Really? He asked me if I was hurting anywhere, and I was so distraught, that for some reason I thought to myself, "Tell him no. You don't want to show him any weakness." Seriously? Show him weakness? I'm pretty sure the only way I could've seemed more vulnerable at that moment is if that Sarah McLaughlin 'Adopt-a-Puppy' commercial would've came on the radio, and I started crying like a little girl. But even so, I blurted out, "No! I'm fine!" Like an idiot.

Much to my chagrin, he started 'working on me'. So in my mind, I had to try to block out my stranger-touching phobias, and also all of my ticklishness. The last thing I wanted was for me to giddily twitch when he was loosening up my hammys. Anyway, the whole thing made me pretty uncomfortable. Rach claims that she heard me snoring at one point. My response to her was that I was just pretending to be sleeping. You know, like when you're being attacked by a bear. A bear with really, really soft hands. And then, out of nowhere, a bell rang and the guy kind of lifted his hands and said, "Alright, your time is up. Make sure you drink a lot of liquids. Good night." And he walked out of the room and out of my life forever. And that was it. Drink a lot of liquids? I don't understand. Did my skin feel extra dry? Do they always say that at the end of a massage? Does he ever switch it up any, and say something like, "Make sure you don't mix your lights and darks in the laundry."? Was this just his catch phrase? Did he do something to me while I was pretend sleeping that would've dehydrated me? Somebody please explain this to me. Why exactly do I need to drink a lot of liquids? I never got that answered, but that was it. No more. We got up, put our clothes back on, and we left.

Rach was uber-relaxed. I was just confused and oily. I guess I can understand why people would enjoy getting a massage, but I'm just not one of those people. I'll just put it up there with all of the other things that other people like but I don't particularly enjoy; like cappuccino, and Glee, and family Christmas cards, and The Notebook, and cats, and plastic toilet seats, and pickles, and Geico commercials, and neck tattoos, and european vacations, and NASCAR, and Meryl Streep, and shopping sprees, and tempurpedic mattresses. They're just not for me.

But I will tell you this: the next time Rach asks me if I want to go get a massage, I'm definitely going to say no. But I'm also going to go put on a nice pair of underwear, just in case it's merely a courtesy question.

The King-Sized Anticipation......

2011-02-10T07:11:00.006-05:00

In the words of Lou Brown, "It's starting to come together, Pepper...Starting to come together." (If you don't know who Lou Brown is, watch this.) You see, Lou Brown knew that something big was about to happen with his Indians team. Lou Brown could feel it. Lou Brown was giddy with excitement.

(And don't make fun of me for referencing a ridiculous 1980's baseball movie. Major League pretty much shaped my childhood. To me, it represents a better time. A simpler time. A time before Corbin Bernsen was doing guest spots on The Young and the Restless. A time before Rene Russo's face was made out of play-doh. A time when Wesley Snipes still paid his taxes. A time before Charlie Sheen's were so upsetting. And when I say 'upsetting actions', I don't mean falsely imprisoning hookers and keeping his cocaine in a giant briefcase. No, by 'upsetting actions', I mean being the star of a really crappy television show that every non-funny person will swear up and down is a good show. I don't see the appeal. And that show is ruining his Hot Shots! Part Deux legacy.)

Okay, by now you're probably asking, "What does the movie, Major League, or more specifically, Lou Brown's quote, have to with anything?" Well let me tell you. Up until a couple of months ago, all we had was a pipe dream; an idea that, sure it might happen eventually, but it's too far away from reality to really sink our teeth into. We could only talk about it in hypotheticals, like, "It'll be great when this happens." Or "Some day, we'll be able to do this or have the freedom to do that." But now we have a date. An actual, finalized date that we can plan around. It's not often that you can look ahead to a specific date and say, "That's the day that our lives are going to change." And we're not looking back. March 26th. That's the date my parents are moving to Charleston. March 26th. That's the date we get access to unlimited free babysitters. March 26th. That's the date Rach and I can go on weekend getaways (or even weeknight getaways!). March 26th. That's the date that we'll have someone to cook real food for us. (Anyone who has eaten my dad's food knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date that Rach will finally have someone to go on marathon shopping trips with. (Anyone who has gone shopping with either Rach, or my mom, knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date.

And like I said, up until a couple of months ago, it was just something that my parents eventually wanted to do. But then things just started rolling into motion. Around Christmas time, my mom decided to put her house up for sale. But that's not really anything for us to get our hopes up about. Trying to sell a house in the New Orleans area is like trying to sell birth control pills to the cast of Basketball Wives. It's not easy. I mean, my parents' next door neighbor has had their house up for sale for over two years. But within the first week of being on the market, my parents had two offers. And after a short negotiation and a few appraisal hiccups, they are set to close on the house next week.

But where are they going to live when they get here? Well, a couple of weeks ago they came up to South Carolina to look for a house. But before they even got here, Rach hooked them up with a real estate friend of hers, Chip, to help them research what areas they were interested in. Well, at least I thought Chip was a friend of hers. I'm starting to question their friendship, because no true friend would recommend my parents as clients. Chip sent my mom about 80 different listings. My mom then whittled the list down to 32 and organized it into a spreadsheet of houses to visit. Chip would've been better off being Goldilocks' Realtor, "This house is too small!" "This house is too big!" "There's not enough closets!" " There's not enough landscaping!" "There's too many stairs" "The laundry room is too far away from the bathroom!" Nothing was good enough. But at the same time, they didn't really know what they were looking for, so they couldn't rule anything out, either. I met Chip and my parents for lunch when they were halfway through their first 9 hour house-hunting session. Chip's demeanor was that of a parent whose kid keeps wetting the bed. As frustrated as he was, he knew he had to be patient. His face stayed calm, but deep down, I got the sense that he wanted to scream at my parents, "Just pick a damn house!....And stop pissing in the bed!"

Anyway, on Sunday night, after close to 30 hours of looking at houses, my parents found the perfect house. It was EXACTLY what they had been looking for. They wanted a house that was about 1800 square feet. This house was almost 3000. They wanted a 1-story house. This house was a 2-story. They wanted a place that they could keep their 5th wheel camper. This house didn't have anything like that, in fact, the 5th wheel could barely fit in the driveway. This house was everything that they didn't know they wanted in a house....and it had a pool. So they put in an offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got rejected. So they put in a third offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got accepted. So now they're under contract, and are scheduled to close at the end of next month.

So now the only thing left to complete the move is for my mom to find a job up here. And it's going to happen, too. Soon. I have no doubt in my mind. I can feel it. Because it's starting to come together, Pepper....Starting to come together.

My Non-King-Sized Non-Problems......

2011-02-02T07:21:00.004-05:00

Apparently, Rach thinks I'm a loner. A rebel. And there's things about me that you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things you SHOULDN'T understand. Oh, wait. That was Pee-Wee Herman. Alright, but still. Rach must think I'm a loner. Why else would she be constantly trying to set me up with other dudes? Sometimes it's a guy she met at work. Sometimes it's one of her friends' husband or boyfriend. Sometimes it's a random stranger in Publix. But there's one common denominator: I would LOVE them. No, I'm serious. Every time she starts telling me about some guy, she says, "Oh my god, you would just LOVE him!"

Really? I would love him? What exactly, in our 5 years together, have I done that would make you think that I'd get excited about meeting some guy? Do I walk up and down the street, kicking a can, because nobody will play with me? When someone knocks at the front door, do I scurry up to see who it is, hoping that it's someone who will be my friend? Do you get some sort of DirecTV-type referral bonus for signing people up to be my friend? Is there some sort of friend-quota that I have to meet? I don't understand.

And it's not as if I start jumping up and down giddily clapping when you tell me that you're setting me up on a dude-date. I get just as excited about a potential buddy as I get when you tell me we're getting a new bed-skirt. I mean, it's nice and everything, but is it really necessary? And then Rach always says, "Well, I just think yall would get along. That's all." Of course we would get along! I get along with everybody. I wonder when the last time she thought to herself, 'Oh geez, this guy would HATE Jeff.' Because THAT's actually a person that I'd like to hang out with.

Okay, enough ranting. Here's where this is relevant. Rach convinced me to go to a 'Men's Meeting' at the church. Apparently, the husband of one of her friends was going, and I was just gonna LOVE him. I gotta say, I'm still a little confused how she roped me into going. She must've used some sort of Jedi mind trick on me. She said she already had a meeting at the church at the same time, and they had free child care, and it required little to no effort on my part. Wait, on second thought, maybe she didn't have to use a Jedi mind trick on me. Anytime you use the phrases "free childcare" and "little to no effort on your part", I'll pretty much go along with anything. Doesn't matter what we're doing.

"Hey Jeff, I'm gonna go bomb a village of handicapped baby seal orphans. Wanna come?"

"Ehhh, I don't know."

"There's free childcare, and it won't require any effort on your part."

"Alright, I'm in."

So we're pulling up to the church, and Rach is giving me some last minute pointers on how to act on my man-date, "Don't talk about yourself too much. Oh, and act like you know how to fix cars. And make sure you pretend to enjoy hunting - church guys love to hunt. Pull your sleeves up a little bit, show them some biceps--but not too much! You don't want to seem like some workout slut!" Okay, I'm just kidding. She really didn't say any of that. But she did tie a steak around my neck to make sure they'd play with me. Okay, kidding about that too. But I have to say, it was a little strange when I walked in, looking for some random guy I've never met. I didn't know if Rach told the guy what I looked like, or who I was, or anything like that. So as people would walk up to me, I had the same sad, desperate, "please don't be crazy" smile that a thirty-nine year old single lady with five cats would have waiting for her blind date. I waited and waited, but alas, he did not show up. Sniff, sniff. Or even worse, he showed up, saw who I was, and then left. But if he's going to act like that, then he didn't deserve to be my homey anyway.

So the meeting starts, and they start talking about how men have a tendency to bridle up their feelings and avoid any emotionally damaging memories. They discussed the potential damages that bottling up all of those emotions could cause. Then some of the guys up on stage starting sharing their stories and what negative impacts that their issues had on their lives. There were issues with emotionally distant fathers, alcoholic fathers, absent fathers, abusive mothers, paranoid schizophrenic aunts. Guys dealing with depression, anger, alcoholism, estranged children, etc. It was some really powerful stuff. At this point, I could tell that these topics were really tapping into some emotional burdens weighing down a lot of the people in the audience. It was probably comforting for people share this moment with others who were going through some of the same issues. But for me, as I was sitting there trying to relate, all I could keep thinking about was how little I have to complain about. I mean, think about it, what problems do I really have? And I don't mean this in a cocky, braggadocios sort of way. But in more of an appreciative, thankful manner. It made me realize that whatever problems that I may conjure up in my head are just that; conjured up in my head. These people have legitimate beefs. Real issues that they have to contend with. My biggest problem is that my job can be stressful. Or that my healthy, beautiful kids brought home a B on their report card. Or that my hot wife can be a little....umm...eccentric sometimes. These are not problems. These are hardly even 'less than fortunate' situations. These are blogposts. So all of this is running through my head while I'm sitting in this men's meeting, and then it dawned on me. This lack of a serious situation is what enables me enjoy myself wherever I am. This is why that, somewhere, right now, one of Racheal's friends is talking to her husband, and she's saying, "Oh my god, you are just going to LOVE Jeff!"

A Queen-Sized Lesson......

2011-01-28T07:32:00.007-05:00

As some of you may know, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are Rach's days off. So most of the time for me, the drive home on those days are the scariest 15 minutes that you could possibly imagine. The gamut of possibilities is incredible. Is she renovating something? Is she remodeling something? Is she redecorating something? Is she having boulders installed in the yard that I have to move? Did we get a new pet? Did we get a new kid? It could literally be ANYTHING. So imagine my surprise when I come home from work to............silence. Beautiful silence. Horrifyingly skeptical, I tip-toed further into the house like a ninja. And when I got to the living room, I saw something so shocking that my eyes could barely process the information. I saw no kids in sight, and Rach under a blanket on the couch....reading a book. That's right. A book. I was about to ask her where the kids were, but then she glared at me with one of those 'If you dare ask me about the kids and somehow jinx my quiet time, I will fly over there and Superman punch you in the throat' looks. At least I'm pretty sure that's what 'look' it was. It was either the 'Superman punch in the throat' look, or the 'I velcroed the kids to the ceiling so I could get some peace' look. But I heard footsteps upstairs, so I figured smart money was on the Superman punch.

And of course, if you're walking through the desert, and you come upon someone drinking water out of a puddle, you don't stop and ask that person why they're drinking that water. Or ask them how they found it. No, you shut up and start drinking. And that's what I did. I sat on the other couch and quietly answered emails on my phone. After about a half hour, I got bored. I looked over at Rach, and she was showing no signs of prematurely ending her quiet time. So I got up to make dinner, and noticed some chicken breasts defrosting on the counter.

I said, "Hey Rach, you got anything in particular planned with these chicken breasts?"

And she said, "............................................"

I'll take that as a no.

So I start making dinner. Nothing special, baja chipotle marinated chicken with stovetop stuffing and mac and cheese. That's my signature dinner. Chicken, and boxes of crap. No one makes chicken and/or boxes of crap quite like I do. In fact, I may open up a restaurant where I serve nothing but chicken and boxed macaroni and cheese. Maybe a baseball themed restaurant with fried chicken balls called 'Fowl Ball, and Battered Box'. I'm pretty sure that's genius. Nobody steal that one.

Anyway, about 45 minutes later, I call the kids downstairs to eat. Rach is still reading her book. I fix the kids plates. Rach is still reading her book. I got the kids drinks. Rach is still reading her book. Finally, Rach looks up and says, "Wait--Is it done? Did you cook already? That was fast."

Me (being sarcastic and patronizing as I make her a plate): Would you like for me to make you a plate and bring it to you? I would hate for you to have to get up.

Rach (laughing): Aww, thank you.

Scarlett (From the Peanut Gallery): I can't wait until I get married, so I can have someone to do everything for me too!

At this point, we all started busting out laughing, but then we thought about it a little more. And Rach said, "That's right. And you get rid of any man that treats you any different." So then it turned into a 45 minute lesson. We talked to Scarlett about respecting herself enough to not settle for a douche bag. We told her that if she did, in fact, try to settle for someone who is even a little bit douchey, that I would knock his teeth out and Rach would Superman punch him in the throat. We talked for awhile, not just to Scarlett, but also to the boys. We talked to them about the right way to treat women. Taught them about respecting women. Putting them first. Taught them the "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" rule.

It's a life lesson, sure. But did we get through to them? I don't know. Is this one night going to transcend into their adult lives? Probably not. Are they even going to remember this incident a week from now? I doubt it. It is, however, a reminder that they're watching us. They're paying attention. Every step we take. Every move we make. They'll be watching us. Just like Sting. They notice our interactions and how we treat other people. They're copycats, like little Carlos Mencia's. And I guess the hope is that, as parents, if we can string together enough of these little lessons, that maybe, just maybe, we can keep our sons out of jail and our daughters off the pole. Or our daughters out of jail and our sons off the pole. Now I'm confused.

The King-Sized Update......

2011-01-24T20:27:00.002-05:00

Okay, deep breath. Aaaannnnnnnddddddd here we go. Today is officially the 4 month anniversary of the last time I blogged. I can't imagine what you could have been doing to fill that void in your life. Let me break it down mathematically for you. Let's say that I averaged 1 post a week when I was actively blogging. And let's also say that it took you an average of 15 minutes to read each post. That means that, over the last 4 months, I've spared you from wasting about 255 minutes of your life. That's over 4 hours! That's almost longer than Avatar. That's longer than it takes to watch a football game that Racheal doesn't understand why you're watching. Rach didn't understand why I was watching the BCS national championship game since LSU wasn't in it. And she may have had a valid argument if my affinity for football was brand new discovery for her. But I've always loved watching football. For crying out loud, WE MET AT A FOOTBALL GAME! I used to watch Division III preseason games! I could watch two guys play Madden online. It's not like I'm suddenly asking her why she has so many pairs of shoes! Or why she talks on the phone for hours at a time. But I digress...What I'm trying to say is that I think I have a lot of catching up to do, but I don't know where to begin.

I could write about how I just shaved my head with a razor about as sharp as a butter knife and know I look like Freddy Kreuger, but I don't think that would hold your attention for that long.

Or I could write about how I'm letting my beard grow out and it is glorious. It may be the greatest beard since Kelly Preston. The fan reactions have been a little strange though, I've had 3 different people tell me that I look just like Carlos Boozer. Which is ridiculous, because if there's a basketball player that I look like, it's probably this guy. But if I started writing about my beard then I'd probably have to mention the gray hair that's growing sporadically on my chin. And then I'd have to mention that I've contemplated just coloring in the gray parts with a sharpie. And that would be weird.

Or I could write about how we no longer have Tori and Gavin. And how we don't speak to Maxine anymore because she's started drinking again and thinks that Racheal is trying to ruin her life by caring. And that we had to just cut ties with them because of all of the drama that it was causing our family. But that would just be too depressing.

Or I could write about how the last month has been the most quiet, calm, drama free month that we've had since Jaxon was born. But that would be way too boring.

Or I could write about how I've been working 60 hours a week for the past few months, and maybe you'd feel a little bit of sympathy, but then I'd also feel compelled to tell you that my 60 hour work weeks are about 50 hours more per week than what I averaged for the previous year and a half.

Or I could write about Cole and Scarlett each came home with 1 B and the rest A's on their report card. But then I'd have to tell you that we grounded them for being slackers. (But then I'd have to admit that I understand why my dad used to ground me for low A's. It was because I was a slacker).

Or I could write about how Izzy and I each gained about 20 pounds over the past year. And that everyone acts surprised when I tell them how much weight I've gained, but no one really acts surprised when I tell them how much weight Izzy has gained. Which is good, I guess. Because that means that I'm carrying my extra 20 pounds better than my 40 pound dog.

Or I could write about how Keith moved out into his own place. And how every time I take the kids to the gym that he works at, as soon as Jax sees Keith, no matter who he's talking to, Jax screams out, "Hey, Uncle Farty Head!". And how I honestly have no idea why he does it.

Or I could write about how my parents decided to move South Carolina. And how they'll be here within the next two months because their house sold within the first week that it was on the market. And how it must be fate because their next door neighbor's house has been up for sale for over two years. And how Jax said that he guesses he'll have to stop picking his nose when his Mimi moves here. And how Mimi and Papa are looking for houses within walking distance of our house. And how awkward it's going to be when I tell them that Rach and I are moving back to Louisiana. (Just kidding, We can't wait for them to get here. You can't put a price on free babysitters. Love you, Mom!)

Or I could write about how big and grown up Cole is getting. That he's becoming such a good big brother. And that he's such a sweet caring person. Or I could write about how smart and gorgeous Scarlett is getting. And that, like it or not, she's becoming as strong and confident as her mother. Or I could write about how funny Jax is becoming. And that he's already using his humor to get himself out of trouble (He must get that from Rach.) Yep, I could write about these things, but I think I'll make you wait for the full stories. Because otherwise I'd owe you your 4 hours again.

The King-Sized Padded Room........

2010-09-24T22:48:00.004-04:00

Do you know the difference between crazy and eccentric? Eccentric people know that they're a little bit off. Crazy people have no idea they're crazy. That's where I think I am right now. I'm like 99.5% sure that I'm not crazy. But there's that 0.5% that makes me feel like I'm having a Leo DiCaprio moment from Shutter Island, and I'm just lying to myself about my sanity.

Now at the same time, I know Racheal is crazy. I know she's crazy like I know the earth is round. I know she's crazy like I know Grey's Anatomy should've ended 4 years ago. I know she's crazy like I know Snooki is orange. But now I'm pretty sure her craziness has worn me down and rubbed off on me. So since I'm pretty sure I lost my sanity, and they say that whenever you lose something, you should retrace your steps to find it, I'm going to retrace the events of tonight in order to try to find my sanity.

(Tonight, 11:00)

Rach, to me: Hey, I don't if you want to do this now or not, but can you change the light bulbs to black lights?

Me: Which light bulbs?

Rach: All of them. Oh, well, I guess you can do it tomorrow.

(Tonight, 10:15)

Me, to Keith: Hey, can you come help me get something out of Racheal's car?

Keith: What is it?

Me: A sink?

Keith: A what?!

Me: I'm pretty sure it's a sink. And an end table. Why? Is that weird?

(Tonight, 9:30 pm)

Rach, to me, on the phone: Hey honey. I need you to come to Big Lots.

Me: What? Are you serious?

Rach: Yes, we bought some stuff that won't fit in my car. And they're closed now. And I need your truck.

Me: You're being serious?

Rach: Yes, honey. Why are you being so weird about this?

Me: So you went to Big Lots, and bought too much stuff....again?

Rach: Are you coming? Or not?

Me: (flabbergasted and speechless on the phone)

(Tonight, 8:45 pm)

Scarlett, to me: Where's mommy?

Me: She went to Big Lots.

Scarlett: What time is she coming back?

Me, kind of to Scarlett, kind of to Keith: Well, they close at 9, so I would guess some time after that---Well, actually, she'll probably come home at 9:15, but she'll end up sending me back out to Big Lots to pick up some furniture or something that wouldn't fit in her car while the old ladies that work there give me dirty looks because I made them stay at work late. (Because that actually happened).

(Tonight, 8:00)

Rach, to Kristin: Oh my God! Is today September 24th?

Kristin: Yeah, I think so.

Rach: Oh crap! C'mon Kristin, let's go! Get your stuff! We gotta go!

Me, thinking that, judging by her reaction, Rach has to go stop an assassination attempt on the president or something: Rach, what is it?!

Rach: I have a coupon to Big Lots that expires today. And if I don't use it now, I'll never be able to. C'mon Kristin. Honey, you got the kids. Love you!

And that's the last thing I remember. Is that crazy? Am I crazy? Is Rach crazy? Is Keith crazy? There's only one thing that I know as I sit here being forced to watch the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy....this show definitely should've been canceled 4 years ago. And because I know that, I know I can't be too crazy.

And by the way, I love my wife and all her craziness. If she weren't so crazy, I wouldn't have anything to write about. And I'm not just saying that because I know she can kill me in my sleep.

The Not-So-King-Sized Unwanted Guest…….

2010-09-03T11:00:00.003-04:00

Well, you guys did it. You’ve complained about my lack of blogging long enough for me to do something about it. You’ve convinced me to come back. I’m not positive, but I’m fairly certain that this is exactly how Brett Farvrer must feel every fall (other than the severely painful loss to the Saints, of course). Anyway, I'm probably a little rusty, but here goes:

One morning last week, I was woken up by the sound of Jaxon whimpering from what I thought was his room. Aww, probably a nightmare. Well, sort of. But I went to his room and he wasn’t there. Now as a little background, Jax has a habit of wandering around in the middle of the night. He’ll climb in bed with Rach and I, or Cole, or Scarlett, or Uncle Keith, or Opossum, or whoever. He’s not picky. Anyway, I followed his quiet, heart-breaking whimper into our bathroom. I assumed that he either couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time, or was having trouble putting his underwear on. I mean, what else could it be?

So I picked him up off the floor, “Jax, what’s wrong?”

And then he went into full fledged crying mode, and the only words I could make out were, “My Pee-Pee! My Pee-Pee Hurts!”

I gave his nether region a quick once over, but it was early and my eyes didn’t work quite yet. Then Rach called out, “Bring him over here. Let me see.” So I brought him over to the bed. Another thing you should know about Jax is that he protects his private area like it’s Fort Knox. He’s always been like that. I don’t know why. He’s even like that in the bathtub. He’s like a bear protecting his cubs. I don’t particularly blame someone who makes it their number 1 priority in life to not getting hit in the balls. Anyway, you can’t anywhere near that thing without 3 forms of identification and a notarized letter from somebody important. But anyway, we try to convince him to let us look, but he’s not falling for it. He’s squirming around like a fish in a boat. So we get him to hold still long enough for Rach to see something on the side of Hoo-Hah, She said, “Oh, I see it. It’s like a cut or something right there on the side. Do you see that?......Oh, wait. Is that?.....No, that’s not a……..holy crap, that’s a TICK!”

And sure enough, right there on the side of his twig, (not the berries), was a HUGE tick. If my memory serves me correctly, it was about the size of a quarter. Just kidding. But the thing looked monstrous on his poor little fella. So then we had to try to convince Jax to let his mom use her extremely long fingernails to pinch this parasite off of his pecker. Not an easy task. Finally I had to hold down his legs while Rach pulled the tick off. It was absolutely horrendous. Rach managed to get the whole thing out of there, (the tick, I mean), on about her third attempt. Which was pretty amazing considering Jax was moving his legs like one of those ‘Super Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Men’. It was pretty serious.

And apparently, Rach has seen too many episodes of House, or ER, or CSI, or Outbreak, or something; because she made me go get a ziplock baggie to keep the tick in. She wanted to send it off for tests to make sure that it wasn’t carrying anything like Lyme disease, or some other serious disease that hasn’t been invented yet. I guess that the intent was to store the tick in the plastic baggie just in case there was a crazy outbreak, and we could then formulate an antidote using the infected tick blood. I mean, who hasn’t heard that story before? Because otherwise, we’d have to spend a good 45 minutes in the middle of our make believe movie retracing our footsteps to find the exact tick. And it’s a good thing that the tick didn’t bite Scarlett. Because you know what they say, when you have a son, you only have one tick to worry about, but when you have a daughter, you have to worry about the rest of them. (Sorry. I know that’s bad. But hang on, I’ve got one more ridiculously bad joke).

So the next day, we were checking on Jaxon’s affected….um…..area, and before we even had a chance to look at it, he was already saying, “No, it’s better. You don’t need to check it. I checked it already.” Seriously, it’s like Fort Knox. And it should be protected, otherwise you’d have every other Dom, Tick, and Harry coming after your junk. (Okay, I’m done.)

A couple of random stories........

2010-05-07T09:25:00.005-04:00

Okay, here's a montage of some random stories and pictures and videos from the last couple of weeks that I've been hanging on to, but haven't had a chance to write about.

If pissing in the ocean is wrong,
then I don't wanna be right...

It's better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all...

The other day, I was upstairs sanding the baseboards in the hallway upstairs getting ready for our carpet to get installed, and Jaxon was downstairs playing. I heard something coming up the stairs pretty slowly, so I leaned over to see what it was. There I see Jaxon, kind of whimpering, naked from the waist down, holding his pants. And in the most pathetic voice that you've ever heard, I hear, "Daddy, I tried wiping my butt. I tried, but it was just too much. I can't do it." I started laughing and went to go pick him up, when I noticed that he had crap all over the backs of his legs. Ooooookay, I guess it's bath time. Apparently, and this is just my speculation of what happened, Jax started trying to wipe his butt, realized he was outmatched, sat down to maybe put his pants on so he could come tell me what happened, then realized what a shitty idea putting on his pants would be (pun intended). I gave him a bath, and it wasn't until later that we realized he had wiped poop all over our white rug in the bathroom. Keith noticed it, and was trying to figure out which dog tracked in mud, when Rach said,

Rach: Umm, I'm pretty sure that's poop.

Keith: No, it can't be. I smelled it.

Rach (calling to me upstairs): Jeff! Did Jax have an accident today?

Me (calling back downstairs): Yeah! I'm giving him a bath now! He came upstairs with crap all over his legs!

Keith (leaving the bathroom): I think I'm gonna throw up.

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It took the Egyptians years to build their pyramids,
it only took my family 9 hours to make this sand castle.
Eat that, Egyptians!

Modesty and Honesty

So a couple of Fridays ago, Rach was off of work and was taking Jaxon to the beach. Naturally, I got extremely jealous and decided to take a half day off of work, check Cole and Scarlett out of school, and meet them out there. I went home first to get 'beach ready', getting Cole and Scarlett's swimsuits so we could head straight to the beach. After I checked them out of school, I told them to change into their swimsuits. Cole was sitting in the front seat and quickly changed into his, but Scarlett hesitated for a bit. Then, from the backseat, she says, "Cole, don't turn around. I'm changing." So Cole responds, very matter of factly, "Scarlett, I don't want to see you naked." I had no idea how to respond to this.

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Partial Birthday Wishes?

We were singing happy birthday to Cole last week, and Jax climbed up on the bar stool to be close to his big brother. I know, very touching, right? Ummm, not so much. So when we finish singing, and Cole gets ready to blow out the candles, Jaxon leans over and blows out 4 of Cole's 10 candles. Cole blew out the rest and sulked, "Awww, Jaxon took 40% of my wish!" I hope he didn't wish for a puppy.

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I guess my dad's blue shorts were in the laundry

At Least Papa Still Has Two Good Armrests

While my dad was visiting a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that he was having a little bit of trouble getting Jaxon into the car seat in my truck. The car seat has an armrest that folds up for when you're putting the kid in the seat, but apparently did not fold up high enough for my dad's liking. When Rach and I got back from Miami, I noticed that the armrest was broken off. My dad says it was an 'accident'. Just like Rach 'accidentally' threw away my camouflage shorts. Anyway, I was telling Keith how I questioned the accidentness (I realize this isn't a word) of my dad breaking the armrest, when Jaxon chimed in from the backseat, "Papa broke it. Papa broke my armrest." And then he pointed to the armrest on the other side, "But that's okay. I still have this armrest." We laughed, and Keith said, "Well, at least you have a good attitude about it." So Jax responds sadly, "Yeah, but I still miss this armrest, though."

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How do you spell irony? D-I-S-A-P-O-I-N-T.......

2010-05-05T10:07:00.006-04:00

Can you use it in a sentence, please? Can I
have the origin of the word? Can I have
the definition? Are there any alternate definitions?
Umm, I gotta be honest. I have no idea how to spell that.

Earlier this year, Cole won his school's spelling bee. And as a fellow nerd, I couldn't be more proud. I tell Cole all the time to embrace his nerdiness, because nerds grow up to get the good jobs and marry the hot chicks. Although Cole's not really a nerd. He doesn't have nearly the nerditude that I did when I was growing up. I was fat, I did quiz bowl competitions, spelling bees, geography bees, and even rode a short bus to the school across town because of their gifted program. So the kids in my neighborhood who saw me get on the short bus thought I was some really dorky smart kid, and the kids at my school who saw me get off the short bus thought I was some really dorky retarded kid. Cole is neither. He's more of a normal kid who happens to be really smart.

Anyway, Cole's spelling bee victory at his school scored him entrance into the regional spelling bee that included all of the local area schools. The top two spellers from about 20 different schools were in the regional competition. So for the whole week leading up to the spelling bee, I kept throwing out words for Cole to spell. And we may have actually created a new game called 'Speed Spelling', because Cole would have to hurry up and spell the word before Scarlett had a chance to chime in. I'm pretty sure that there isn't anything I could do to keep Scarlett from blurting out answers. I could threaten her Barbies, threaten her Little Pet Shop stuff, threaten her life, threaten to make her wear brown, anything. It didn't work. Cole just had to think quicker.

So on the Saturday of the Spelling Bee, I made sure we got there good and early to get signed in and set up and stuff. And as I was pulling into the parking lot, I remember thinking, "Man, this place is PACKED! How many 4th graders are there?" Then as we got inside the building to sign up, I realized that the spelling bee for 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th graders. Oh crap, I'm going to be here all day. Maybe they're going to lump them all together in one group? Please? Please can you lump them together in one group? No? Damnit! I'm never going home. And of course they let the 1st graders go first and the 4th graders go last. And as I'm confirming this horrible fact by looking at the programs that they were passing out, I notice that they spelled Cole's name wrong. Eole Wolcott. Awesome. There's a keepsake. Only in South Carolina could they misspell your name at a spelling bee.

We make it to our seats to get ready for the 1st graders to begin. 20 minutes after teacher introductions, we finally get the competition started. This shouldn't take too long, right? I mean, they're first graders! Well it wouldn't have taken too long had they not started with words like 'dog' and 'cat' and 'mom' and 'pop'. It was excruciating. One round and one hour later, 32 out of the 32 contestants were still alive. The words eventually got harder, and slowly the spellers began to fall. Never before have I actively rooted for kids to be stupid. Another hour later, it came down to two kids: a blonde headed little girl in a bright pink polka dotted dress and a giant yellow bow in her hair that made it look like she was welcoming soldiers home, and a fat kid with a fake tattoo on his arm that reminded me of myself at that age. So, naturally, I throw my support behind the fat kid. So little Miss Punky Brewster skips up to the microphone, and they give her the word, 'flower'. Flower?! Really?! This girl looks so much like a hippie that her name might be flower. This thing is completely rigged. She, of course, nails it, and now it's fatty's turn. His word; 'hamburger'. I couldn't make this stuff up. And, no big surprise, he nailed it. After a couple more rounds, the hamburglar finally won it with the word, 'medicine'. (Probably a word that he's familiar with due to his early onset of diabetis, a la Wilford Brimley. Just kidding.)

By this time, it's been 2.5 hours, we've only gotten through the first grade, and I'm hungry enough to eat 9 H-A-M-B-U-R-G-E-R-S. Because of my hunger (and also because I couldn't handle hearing Scarlett tell me that she knows how to spell every word that's called out. She's the smartest person in her class, you know?), I decided to go get something to eat. We ended up going over to Racheal's work because she was making stuffed bell peppers.

(And on a different note, Racheal cooks about like Dr. Dre releases albums. It only happens once every few years, but when it does, it surprises you because it's awesome, then you remember, "Oh yeah, Now I remember how good they are at this." What I'm trying to say, is those bell peppers were Oh-some.)

I spent a little while at Rach's work before going back to the spelling bee. At this point, going back to the spelling bee was like walking the Green Mile. It was really hard for me not to start kicking and screaming and running the other way, but I kept my composure.

Finally, it was time for the 4th graders to start, and Rach met me in the auditorium. As the kids were walking up on stage (Cole was 26th), I found myself sizing them up, and COMPLETELY prejudging them based on looks. I am unbelievably ashamed that I actually had thoughts, "Oh, Cole's definitely smarter than that kid. I mean, look at him, he can't even tie his shoes right." And then all of a sudden, right before they started, I began to get really, really nervous. Like, way more nervous than I've ever been in my entire life. I was very much 'about to puke all over the place' nervous. It's just this overwhelming sense of helplessness as your kid is putting himself out there. I could barely breathe. Then I look over to Scarlett, and she looks at me with this completely serious look. And says, "If Cole wins this, I will be SO jealous!" Confused, I was like, "Jealous? You mean happy for him, right?" And she says, "Nope. I'd be jealous." Could she be more of a diva?

Finally, Cole gets up there, after about 10 people already got knocked out in the first round, and his word is, 'aisle'. What?! A silent letter in the first round?! Come on! So Cole says slowly, "aisle, I-........S-L-E". And I immediately think to myself, "That's a damn word! They never specified which kind of isle!" The orator looked at the judges, then explained that if a word has a homophone and the kid doesn't ask for a definition, then either spelling will suffice. You damn right it will!

Round 2, about 16 kids left. Cole's word.....diagram. I swallow my tongue in terror. Cole nails it. I'm hyperventilating.

Round 3, about 7 kids left. Cole's word.....artificial. Oh crap. Get the car.

Whew!! Success! Thought he lost it there for a minute. I just crapped my pants.

Round 4, 5 kids left. Cole's word....disappoint. So he pauses for a second....and then.......D......I.......S......A..........P....................O............I........N......T.

Ugh. Heartbreaker. At that moment, you just feel so bad for him. We went straight to the cafeteria where they had snacks set up for the kids. We told him how awesome he did. Gave him hugs. Told him how proud we were. Made sure he wasn't too bummed out. And after I thought about it, maybe it's better that he doesn't know how to spell 'disappoint'. Because, really, that word doesn't even need to be in his vocabulary. Good job, Cole. Mommy and Daddy are proud of you.

Moons O'er MyHammy.........

2010-05-03T10:14:00.006-04:00

Note: I'm sure you were all dying to know what has been going on in the King household, and I was going to give you a bunch of little snippets of what has been going on lately, but once I started typing I couldn't get past the first story. So here's a brief synopsis of our trip to Miami.

A couple of weeks ago, Rach and I went to a wedding (by ourselves) in Miami, and it was AWESOME! Now at this point in our lives, Rach and I would be excited about the two of us going anywhere alone. You could tell us that we were going to milk cows in Sheboygan, Wisconsin for a few days, and we'd both be excitedly sitting on the plane with our overalls and rubber gloves on. Rach would probably even bedazzle herself a straw hat. But with that being said, it really was an awesome trip. When Rach booked the rental car, I'm pretty sure she tried to book us a Cadillac CTS so that we could drive around Miami in style. We didn't get the CTS, but the rental company was pretty close. They gave us a blacked out Lincoln Continental! It was the most incredible car I've ever driven. I couldn't decide if I was in the FBI, in the mob, or in the car service industry. When we walked up to the car, I climbed in the trunk and yelled out, "Look how many bodies you can fit back here!" Then I called my best friend, Agent EZ, to see if there was any way he could get me one of those old school blue lights to put on the dashboard. Then I climbed in the backseat to make it seem like Rach was chauffeuring me around the city. (And just in case you're not scoring at home, I made 3 rental car jokes in a matter of seconds. And don't think that I slowed that pace down at all. Rach never wants to see another Continental for as long as she lives.) Anyway, we got to spend a full day in South Beach, laying out for a long time, then taking one for the team and shopping for a long time. (Although I will say that it was by far, the greatest shopping trip of my lifetime. That's not even a joke.) But when we were close to being done with all of the shopping, I left Rach in the store to go get the car out of the parking garage. I got back to the store that Rach was in, but ended up having to wait outside in the car for about 20 minutes. The wait wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have 10 different people come up to the car and ask me how much it would cost for me to take them to some other part of time. "I'm not a car service, Damnit!!" And this is the conversation I had with one of the semi-drunk guys:

Semi-Drunkie: Hey man, How much to get back downtown?

Me: Sorry man, I'm not a taxi.

Semi-Drunkie: Oh, my bad bro. Hey, how much did this car cost? Because I'm thinking about getting me a fleet of these and starting my own business.

Me: I have no idea. This is just a rental car.

Semi-Drunkie: Oh, word. But do you know how much they are?

Me: Not sure, man. Just a rental.

Semi-Drunkie: Oh, but that would be sweet though, right?

Me: Yes, you should definitely look into it.

But enough about the car, the wedding was awesome too. The wedding participants were Racheal's childhood friend, Crystal, and her husband, Dean, who I had never met. I had heard a lot about him, but that was mostly just Racheal telling me how much I'd like him. "Oh, you are just going to love Dean. He's funny. He works out. He's got great eyebrows. Guys would kill for his eyebrows." (Okay, maybe not the last part, but Rach was definitely talking this guy up like she was setting me up on a blind date with a one-legged hunchback.) It turned out, though, that Dean was really fun to hang out with. Actually, everyone was. It was the type of wedding that made you think three things: One was, "Wow, people really are better looking in Miami." Two, "Everybody here is just trying to have a good time." And three, "Holy crap, I think this bartender is trying to kill me!"

It's almost more fun to go to a wedding that you don't know too many people at because you get to meet all these great people from all over who are all celebrating the same thing. And there's not anyone at the wedding that you don't like because, well, you just met them. And you how some couples disappear after their wedding? Because maybe they're too tired? Or maybe they want to get a jump on their honeymoon? Or maybe they're just snooty and don't feel like hanging out after getting married? Well, Dean and Crystal were NOT that couple. Oh no, fast forward to 5:30 in the morning to Crystal ordering pancakes in a diner still wearing her wedding dress. Now THAT is my kind of couple. (After all, Rach and I ended up at Waffle House and skinny dipping in a pool the night we got married, so this was right up our alley.) But I digress, after the wedding we all piled in the Lincoln as a very sober Racheal drove a bunch of very unsober wedding guests to a night club in downtown Miami. It was pretty much exactly what you would expect from a Miami night club. The only reason they let us guys in was because we were with good looking women. And even then it felt like the bouncer was eyeing me up and down like the guy buying slaves in the movie Gladiator. I was waiting for him to ask me what my trade was. "I was a hunter." Then after we got into the club, we walked through what seemed like 7 different clubs all with different levels of VIPness. We ended up at the bar in some very large, very loud, very crowded room (How old am I?). We ended up getting a table so that we had somewhere to put our stuff, and also so that we had a place for people to dance on the table and chug bottles of Bacardi (I only did one of those). I imagine that this night was the closest that I'll ever get to seeing what it is like to be a rapper. I should've finally debuted my rap name, Lewy C Ana (kinda like Flo-Rida). And looking back on it now, maybe we should've been drinking Henny and Hypnotiq instead. Anyway, we ended up shutting down the bar at 4 am, and going to the aforementioned diner where, one of Crystal's friends may or may not have shown everyone at the table what he had been eating and drinking all night. Bleh! But that was before he gathered his composure and proceeded to repeatedly hit on the ladies at the table next to us. Then Racheal nearly lost her composure when she threatened to cut his balls off with a butter knife if he went over to go talk to them again. Honey, do you think KFC is still open?

The next day, there was a 'What Happened Last Night' Brunch (Not the actual title of the brunch) where we all regrouped and rehashed the events of the previous night. Then we returned the Lincoln and hopped on a plane so that I could begin my 3 day hangover (I swear I didn't feel right until the next Tuesday). But all in all we had a great time. We celebrated a beautiful couple's beautiful wedding; we met some awesome people; we had an awesome day on the beach, we spent an awful lot of money; and most importantly, we got through yet another trip without killing each other. We actually didn't even get into one fight. Now I gotta start planning that trip to Sheboygan.

The King-Sized Mistake........

2010-03-22T09:34:00.007-04:00

I like to consider myself a pretty intelligent person. Which is what makes this so frustrating. I know better. I do. I have no one to blame but myself. I could've stopped it. But, love makes you do crazy things. Or better yet, crazy people that you love make you do crazy things. I keep replaying it over and over in my head. Rach comes home from work at about 6:30 pm on Saturday and says, "Hey, you wanna go on an adventure?"

Why couldn't I have said no? Why couldn't I have come up with an excuse? Any excuse. Anything! But all I said was, "Ummm, sure. Wait- Where?" (mistake #1).

So here's the back story. Rach is selling houses in a community pretty close to our neighborhood. At some point in the future, the two neighborhoods are going to connect, but we're not quite there yet. So Rach wanted to go see how close the two roads were to connecting to each other. This meant we'd have to drive to the end of one road, then get out and walk through the woods to the other road. But it would be WAY too easy if it were just me and Racheal. So we decided to take Cole, Scarlett, Jaxon, Izzy, and Opossum with us (mistake #s 2-6).

We take my truck to the end of the road in our neighborhood, then get out to walk the rest of the way. When we let the dogs out of the truck, Rach said she heard a pit bull, and didn't want our dogs to get eaten. (She has got some amazing ears to be able to pick out dog breeds based on their barks. She really needs her own show on Animal Planet). Anyway, we left the dogs in the truck just in case. So Rach, Cole, Scarlett, Jax, and I start off through the thicket to get to the other side of the forest. The terrain wasn't terrible. There were some ditches, and some hills, and pretty thick bushes; but nothing too difficult for Scarlett to walk through, or for me to carry Jaxon through. Once we got through the 500 yards or so to the other side, we decided that I would run back through the woods, and drive my truck around to come pick everyone up (mistake #7). Because, you know, it'll be getting dark soon. I start running towards the truck, and as I'm running through the woods, I remember thinking to myself, "Huh. This is how horror movies get started."

After successfully making it back to my truck, I made the 10 minute drive around the neighborhood that the new road will be eliminating. And upon my arrival to where Rach and the kids were, Rach says, "What took you so long?" Okay, I know what you're thinking. Now that we have everyone all in the same place, including the dogs, and the truck, we can just pile in and go home, right? Well, then this wouldn't have been a proper adventure, now would it?

Rach wanted to drive the truck through the other side to see how much more of the new road still needed to be built (mistake #8). I expressed my concerns because of how wet the ground was, but she assured me that she had just walked through and it was a lot more firm than it looked. She said she would drive since she knew where the soft spots were, and what parts to avoid. Giddyup. Let's ride. After about 300 yards, we got to a point that was past where they had already walked. Rach told me to get out to see if the truck could make it through the next wet spot. So I hop out, and walk across some pretty solid ground before getting to what seemed like a tiny little puddle. I didn't want to get too muddy, so I didn't bother going ALL the way through the puddle (mistake #9) So I get back in the truck and say, "Oh, we got it. Just gun it." We get the front tires through, and just as we're about to get the back tires through, when we started spinning. Crap. Don't panic. We can get through it. We tried rocking it back and forth but no dice. At this point, it's starting to get pretty dark, and guess what? We have no flashlight (mistake #10). So Rach and I get out of the truck to go looking for pieces of wood and stuff to put underneath the tires. We ended up finding some stakes holding up a plastic fence. And as I'm crawling around by the tire trying to dig us out (with my bare hands since we didn't have a shovel - mistake #11), I quickly realize that we have discovered quick-mud. What's quick-mud, you ask? Well I'll tell you. Quick-mud is a lot like quicksand, but only if you add water and rocks. As I'm trying to dig us out, I notice that I keep sinking. My feet are plunging into the mud about two feet up my legs. I looked like a torso with 4 chocolate dipped banana limbs. So now it's dark. We're stuck. We have no flashlight. And it's getting cold. Rach starts calling people on the 1 cell phone that we have (mistake #12) whose battery is running dangerously low (mistake #13). I'm still trying to dig us out, the kids are asking a million questions, Rach is trying to get someone to help us, and I'm starting to get frustrated. So I'm knee deep in quick-mud by the back passenger tire, trying to explain to the kids what I'm using the wood for; getting really irritated at this point, and Jaxon leans out the window and says, "Here daddy. You can use my sticks. These will work." He had apparently collected some little sticks during our walk and had been playing with them in the truck. And just like that, I went from feeling angry to feeling about 2 inches tall. And here's where I have to credit the kids; if it weren't for them being there, I'm pretty sure Rach and I would've fought to the death out there. But since we had them with us (being ridiculously well behaved considering the circumstances), neither one of us could show any panic. We just had to accept things for what they were and try and get us out of the mess we were in. And for Rach and I not to argue during this whole situation has to be one of the most improbable things to happen in the history of mankind. Forget about walking on the moon, or Villanova over Georgetown, or Season 3 of Flava of Love. This is by far a bigger shocker.

So we get in touch with our friends Steve and Wayne, who drop everything they were doing to come help us. And thank God, because things were getting bleak. It's now 10 o'clock, it's cold, I lost my shoes in the quick-mud, the forest is starting to make noises, the truck has now sunk into the quick-mud past the exhaust, and we're about an hour away from deciding who we're going to eat first. I run out to go meet Steve and Wayne by the road, and Steve wisely decides not to drive his much heavier truck out to where we were stuck. Instead, we walk back over to the rapidly sinking truck, grab Rach, the kids and the dogs, and get the hell out of dodge. So we all pile into Steve's truck as if we were trying to make it across the border, all 7 people and 3 dogs. It really did feel like a coast guard rescue. We had all kind of dipped into a state of shock. On our way home, Cole asked very Oliver Twist-ish if we could stop and get something to eat, "Please, sir, Can we have some McDonalds?" I had left my wallet in my other mud-legs, and Rach didn't have her's either, but Wayne said, "That's okay. I have mine." Cole mistook this for gloating, as if we were going to go to McDonalds and watch Wayne eat, and said, "Well, Can you please buy us some food then?"

We successfully get the kids back home by about 11:15. I wash most of the quick-mud off. And Wayne, Steve, and I head over to Steve's dad's house to get a bunch of chain and a farm tractor. Steve kept saying the whole time that he had a tractor, and I must say that I was skeptical. You see, I'm what you would call 'city folk'. To me, a tractor means a riding lawnmower. But to Steve, a tractor means 'big giant farm tractor'. But the next dilemma we had was getting the tractor from Steve's dad's house to the big giant hole in the mud where our truck used to be (a bit of an exaggeration, but work with me). Steve gets the tractor out to the street, we drape all of the chains on it, and guess what? The tractor won't start. So now we're jump starting a farm tractor at 12:30 on a Saturday night. Success. As Steve's riding away on the tractor, Wayne and I joke about how silly we're going to look following the tractor along side the 2 miles of highway (including passing a police station) we had to go to get to Rach's neighborhood. But slowly and steady, we make it to where the road ended. And just as we're getting out of the truck, we see flashing lights behind us. That's just great. Busssted. So as the cop walks up, I laugh and say, "Officer, boy do I have a story for you." So I proceed to tell him about how my wife works in the community, and she was driving back to see what kind of progress was being made, and we got stuck. As soon as I said, "My wife, Racheal--" he cut me off and said, "Oh, Racheal? Yea, she's crazy. Yall do what yall need to do." (He didn't actually say that, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was thinking.) Anyway, he let us go after telling us he thought we stole the tractor, and we made it safely to what was left of the truck. By this time, I had to actually dig out the mud from around the back of the truck just to get the trailer hitch on it. That's how much the truck had sunk. So, with Steve pulling me on the tractor, I gunned it in reverse, and barely, just barely made it out of there. My tires were smoking, kicking up quick-mud all over the place, and left a set of 4 foot tall ruts getting back to dry land.

By the time we got Steve and his tractor home, it was after 1 0'clock in the morning. I've got little cuts and bruises all over my arms and hands from the rocks in the quick-mud, my truck looks like the inside of a Mardi Gras Port-o-John, and I think I contracted some sort of viral worms from walking shoeless in the quick-mud. And all of this because I couldn't come up with a better answer to, "Hey, you wanna go on an adventure?" On second thought, maybe I'm not too bright.

There's a dirty tire and an unnecessary finger in this picture

The King-Sized Return............

2010-03-12T08:42:00.005-05:00

Alright, alright already. Stop hounding me. I'll do another friggin blog. It's only been a month, and I must've gotten close to 3 requests asking me to make another post (that number just unexpectedly climbed to 5 while I was in the bathroom at work. Thanks Papa Joe). Sure two of those emails came from my wife and my mother, but that's close to half my fan base. But I don't want you to think that my extended hiatus means that nothing has been going on. Oh no, not at all. I've been as busy as ever. I just haven't time (see also: 'been too lazy') to post anything. So since I already consider my life as one big dress rehearsal for a Lifetime made for TV movie; just imagine this past month as an extended 1980s montage set to something like Falco's Rock me, Amadeus (only without the powdered wig). So close your eyes, and I'll narrate you through the montage. Oh, wait -Open your eyes. You'll need them to read this. And maybe we'll pick a different song. (Editor's Note: I apologize if this doesn't make any sense. I'm a little rusty.)

Scene 1: Who Dat Celebration

Background music: Johnny Cash's Hurt followed by U2 and Green Day, The Saints are Coming

Description: Jeff tearfully gazes at the post-Super Bowl celebration on TV while he reminisces and reflects on his life as a Saints fan. Fade to random moments in Saints history, i.e. Jim Mora press conferences, the Billy Joes, Rickey Jackson pager commercials, Heath Shuler's heal, Danny Weurfel's backwards helmet, Ditka smoking a cigar, Ricky Williams fumbling, the Tim Couch hail mary, the Daunte Culpepper 2-point conversion, the 40-10 Redskins shellacking that Soyez slept through, Deuce blowing out his knee, the Joe Horn/Willie Roaf debacle, the Jacksonville miracle followed by the botched Carney extra point, Joe Horn's cell phone, meeting my future wife at a 38-31 loss to the Vikings, Deuce blowing out his other knee, Jason David, Reggie pointing at Urlacher, Deuce blowing out his other knee again, Kurt Warner getting laid out, Reggie's punt return, Porter intercepting Favre, Hartley's kick, Pierre Thomas' screen pass, Shockey Touchdown, Brees hugging Payton, .....Then fade back to a sobbing Jeff making one of these ridiculous crying faces.

Commentary: The Saints won the Super Bowl. I still haven't completely come to terms with it. I mean, this is, by far, the most important meaningless thing to ever happen in my life. It's humongous. It's bigger than LSU's two national championships. It's bigger than the iPhone. It's bigger than -- and I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's even bigger than when Rocky ended the Cold War. There, I said it. And I can't take it back.

Scene 2 - Jax is getting old

Background music: The Beach Boys, Wouldn't It Be Nice.

Description: Clips of Jax doing more and more grown up things, like brushing his teeth, putting his shoes on, saying things like, "Daddy, Where are the kids?", dribbling a basketball, pouring syrup on his waffles, playing Wii Fit, drawing on his magnetic DoodlePro and saying, "Not now! I'm doing my homework!", standing up to pee, and then a shot of him riding his bicycle.

Commentary: What, you can't picture him riding his bicycle? Then watch this:

Scene 3 - Max spreads her wings

Background Music: Something loud and ghetto, like Maxine's ring tone. Lil Wayne's I Run This .

Description: Start with Maxine at a meeting getting her 1 year sobriety chip. Then show clips of her dealing with her roommates' drama and getting fed up. Then show her trying to find zen by doing yoga on the Wii Fit. Then show me laughing at her. Then show her with a newspaper looking through the classified ads for a place to rent, circling one of the listings with a big over sized red pen (Of course, she didn't actually use a newspaper. But that's what she would've done if this were in fact a 1980s montage). Then show her signing a lease and getting the keys to her new place.

Commentary: I've joked before about how mean and scary Maxine and Racheal can be. Nobody ever seems to believe me. I feel like this guy from Monty Python trying to warn people about the cute little bunny rabbit. Maxine will literally rip your throat out if you cross her. I mean, you really have no idea what she's capable of until you back her into a corner. She has been through so much, and for her to fight her way back is pretty much astonishing. Watching her grow and make strides everyday has been very inspiring. I couldn't be more proud of another person. But having said that, her taking the kids is so bittersweet. I'm so proud of her, and so happy for the kids. But it feels like the end of an era. In all actuality, not a whole lot is really going to change. We'll still see the kids before and after school. We'll still see them all weekend. We'll still be one huge dysfunctional family. And it's not like they're moving too far. Maxine's house is less than 2 miles away.

He's a poet, and he didn't even know this....or it. I meant it.......

2010-02-03T09:37:00.003-05:00

I know that I've mentioned that we have a cat, but I'm not quite sure if I've accurately or adequately described this cat before. Her name is Dido, and she's the most annoying cat on the planet. If I thought that there were cats on other planets, then I'd say she is the most annoying cat in the universe. Her annoyance can be explained, threefold (I'm not sure if that's how you use that word, but I've always wanted to say, 'Threefold'):

When new people come to the house and try to pet her, we have to stop them as if they were about to explode. You know, like the 6:20 mark of this clip. It's always, "No!! Don't pet her!! She's angry!! She hates everyone!! She will literally scratch your eyeballs off!!"

She has the loudest, and most ear piercing meow that I've ever heard. It doesn't even sound like a cat. It actually sounds like Fran Drescher, from 'The Nanny', doing an impression of a cat. It sounds like a long, drawn out question from a slow-talker, "Meeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooowwwwwwww??" And to make matters worse, she never shuts up. She meows when she's hungry, meows when she's thirsty, meows when she just finished eating, meows when she's happy, meows when she's in your room at 3:00 am and wants to get out the door, meows when she's outside your room at 3:01 am and wants to get back in the door. Uggh. And as of last night, do you know what Racheal did to the loudest cat on the planet? Can you guess? Yep, she put a bell around her neck. Really, Rach? A bell? Are you kidding me? Why don't you just get her an air horn?

She's rude. She's just rude. I get woken (awoken? woke up? woked? awoked? wakened? awakened?) up all the time in the middle of the night by the stupid cat walking on my pillow. It seriously freaks me out. (Rach doesn't believe me that she does this, but then again, I could walk on Rach's pillow while she's sleeping and she wouldn't notice.) And if you sit on the couch - it doesn't matter what you're doing; sleeping, eating, typing, watching TV - she climbs up on top of you, head butts you in the chin, then turns around and sticks her brown eye in your face. Every. Single. Time. Sometimes she'll get right up, turn around, and do it again, just for emphasis.

So, to recap, the cat is REALLY annoying. I mean, I've had dancing Santa Clause's that weren't this annoying. Carrot Top would say that Dido is annoying. If Rach wanted to trade Dido for a parrot who only knew how to sing The Macarena, I'd consider it. But no matter how much I go on and on about Dido; no matter how many words I type; no matter how much I describe her, I could never EVER sum up the cat's existence as well as Cole did in his poem for school.

I give you......Cole's masterpiece:

Not that I've ever been a huge poetry connoisseur or anything,
but this is, by far, my favorite poem ever

I'm serious, he completely summed up this cats' role in our lives in a matter of 13 words. It's incredible. Audrey Wurdemann was the youngest person to ever win the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, and she was 24. Cole still has 15 years to beat that! At this point I want him to write poems about all of us. How would he describe his sister in 13 words? Maybe a Haiku about the dog? Some iambic pentameter about dinner time? I don't know. And not just poems about us, I want to see his take on everything. How would he describe, say, a sunset? or a rainbow? or posi-track rear end of a plymouth? The possibilities are endless.

The King-Sized Backseat Surprise..........

2010-01-27T14:50:00.005-05:00

'You know, one day you're going to look back on this and laugh.'

Have you ever had someone say this to you, and then immediately want to punch them in the face? Because even though they are probably right, and you will, in fact, look back on this one day and laugh, that day ain't today. Because you're still really pissed or upset at that particular moment, and the retard trying to cheer you up doesn't actually cheer you up, he just redirects your anger at him. Well an odd thing happened to me the other day; I was both of those people. I got angry, tried to cheer myself up with laughter, then got mad at myself for laughing about it. Let me explain:

Earlier this week, I was in my driveway changing out one of the headlights in Racheal's car. Jax was outside with me for awhile, then he climbed into the car and started playing around; climbing over seats, messing with the DVD player, etc. I kept looking over to make sure he was still breathing, and every time I looked he would just smile back at me. Then I heard him yell out, "Daddy, Daddy!" When I looked this time, he said, "I pooped my pants!" Now, at this point in Jax's life, he is completely potty trained. (We haven't had a poop incident since this story, and before that, this one.) So, to hear him say that, I was equally upset and confused. I began to yell at him about how he knows better than to poop in his pants, and why toilets are a better option. But as I made my way over to the side of the car, I became way more confused than upset. He was standing on the middle seat (we have the 3rd row seats, but he was in the middle), he still had his shirt on, but he was completely naked from the waste down. At first, I thought maybe that he took his pants off after pushing cotton because his drawers were too heavy. Or perhaps too warm. That theory didn't hold up, though, because I saw his pants and underwear crumpled up behind the drivers' seat, and they were clean. There was no trace of poop, whatsoever. At this point, I'm still yelling about the virtues of using the toilet, then it dawns on me, 'Maybe he just said he that NEEDED to go poop.' So I look at him and say, "Jax, do you need to go poo poo?" And he says matter of factly, "No. I already went poop." As if I was silly for asking. So then I looked at him straight in the face, and asked a question that I had never asked anyone before, and hope to never have to ask again, "Where?! Where did you poop?! I can't find your poop!" Just then, I noticed a brown substance smeared on the seat in the middle. (And believe me, there was NO chance I was playing 'Poop or Chocolate' this time.) Right as I was noticing the skid marks on the seat, something told me to look back by the 3rd seat. (And when I say 'something' told me, I don't mean like a Poop Fairy or anything. I mean that it's just kind of poop-intuition at this point. Like a poop sixth sense.) And sure enough, right there on the floor board, the biggest dang turd you've ever seen. It looked like a manatee. Or a two by four. Or some combination of both.

Keith had just come outside and his only response was, "See? This right here is the reason I don't think I'm ever having kids." And me? I could see the humor in it right away, but I got mad at myself for laughing, because I knew that I was going to be the one to have to clean it up. For a split second, though, I thought about walking back inside and pretending that I never saw it, like what I usually do when I see a cockroach. But then I thought about the old sayings, 'You don't sweep shit under the rug.' Or 'You don't shit wear you put your feet.' Or 'Wish in one van and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.' Or 'Shit don't roll uphill....unless it's in the back of a trailblazer.' So I cleaned it up.

You may see a serious look on a sweet angel.
I see a boy contemplating when he's going to
try out his Najeh Davenport impression

The King-Sized Trip to Disney.........

2010-01-15T08:51:00.017-05:00

Editor's Note: I apologize for taking so long to get this post done. I've been a little busy, and most of my free time is spent making myself nervous about the Saints. Bear with me....

We have returned from what I would deem a largely successful trip to Disney. I say largely successful because anytime you can survive 7 days in Disney World with 5 kids without anyone getting lost or stolen or kicked out or bankrupt, I'd consider it a success. We went to Epcot twice, Magic Kingdom twice, Animal Kingdom twice, and Hollywood Studios once. We went to Never Never land, the Caribbean, Africa, the past, Mars, Asia, the future, and Nebulos 9. We did just about as much as you could possible squeeze into 7 days. And quite honestly, all of the days are kind of jumbled together into my brain, so I'm just going to give you some random thoughts and some random pictures from the adventure.

Theme Park of the Future

When we first got to Epcot (which bills itself as being on the cusp of innovation, and being the Theme Park of the Future, but it didn't seem like a whole lot had changed since the last time I was there 12 years ago. I guess it's kind of like Dippin Dots being the 'Ice Cream of the Future' for the past twenty years. When does that become the 'Overstatement of the Present'?), we walked past a row of about four pay phones. Scarlett looked over and got ridiculously excited, "Mommy! Look! Phones! We could use them to call Mimi!" She had never seen or heard of a pay phone. The concept was as foreign to her as Morse Code. So, inadvertently, the 'Theme Park of the Future' taught my daughter a history lesson. But here is the clan at Epcot:

Poor Line Etiquette

This was really an overarching theme of the whole trip. My children's poor line etiquette. Something about putting these kids in a line turned them into retarded monkeys. I've never seen anything like it. And since we were in Disney during the coldest and rainiest week in the history of Florida, we didn't have to stand in line that much. I don't think we stood in any line for more than 20 minutes, but that was WAY more than enough time for them to repeatedly perform the following 'standing-in-line infractions':

Ridiculously bumping into strangers - It was like being a designated driver for your 5 completely hammered friends. And you find yourself apologizing for them bumping into everyone, and then finally you just want to go home. (Note to all of my friends back home: I know that I've never experienced this phenomenon from the DD's perspective. But I was just trying to make a point.)

Inadvertently cutting the families in front of us - It's one of the core fundamentals of standing in a line, yet none of my kids were ever fully able to grasp the concept. Apparently, in my kids' minds, if there's enough space for you to go over, under, or around the person standing in front of you, then they're not REALLY standing in line.

Dramatically overreacting to a bad smell - "EEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!!!! GAVIN FARTED!! OH MY GOSH!!!!! IT STINKS!!!!!!" "NO I DIDN'T, IT WAS SCARLETT!!!!!" "NAH-AHH!!!! IT WAS COLE!!!!!!" "NO IT WASN'T!!!! I DIDN'T FART!!!! IT WASN'T ME!!!! I THINK IT WAS THE GUY IN FRONT OF US WHO HAS BEEN LISTENING TO THIS RIDICULOUS TIRADE THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!! (Alright, maybe not the last part, but you get the idea.)

Climbing on anything and everything - This was mostly just Cole, but Gavin and Scarlett chipped in too. I felt like getting one of those hilarious toddler leashes to put on Cole. How funny would that have been to see a 9 year old wearing one of these. But seriously, I needed it. "Cole, get of the railing." "Cole, get off that wall." "Cole, stop jumping off of benches." "Cole, Don't stand on that." "Cole, stop skipping backwards. You're running into people." "Cole, don't hang on that." "Cole, stop trying to climb that 20 foot statue of Mickey!" These are all sentences actually left my mouth. Finally, I told him that instead of telling him to stop climbing on stuff, I was just going to pop him in the back of the head. Which I did. Which caused some old man to give me a dirty look. Which caused me to give him an even dirtier look, one that could only be caused by bringing 5 children to the happiest place on earth.

I tried to squeeze the bars together.
Believe me, I tried.

Fighting Over Trash

When you throw Scarlett into the mix, the kids fight about absolutely everything. I mean everything. There was a game in Epcot that was supposed to teach you how to be more 'green', and conserve waste, and recycle, and yada-yada. Let's just call it 'The Al Gore Experience'. Anyway, they gave you a trash-filled recycle bin to push around to all these different stations that taught you ways to help out the environment. Well, we spent about a half hour extra in 'The Al Gore Experience' because of non-stop, incessant fighting. "I want to push the cart!" "You got to push it last time!" "Daddy, Cole won't let me recycle that old newspaper!" They were literally fighting over trash. It was insane and annoying, yet strangely comical. I'm not saying it's all Scarlett's fault, but she's definitely the catalyst. She's like the equivalent of putting hot sauce in a fruit salad. On our second day in Magic Kingdom, I took Tori, Gavin, and Cole with me to ride roller coasters while Rach took Scarlett and Jax to see princesses, and we had zero arguments. I'm just sayin.....

They're laughing because Scarlett just ratted
Cole out for not brushing his teeth two years ago.

Random Thoughts and Pictures

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This picture was taken right after Gavin burped in Donald's face. Donald didn't stay at our table long.

"The jokes on you, kid. I slobbered all over
your food using my Donald Duck voice!"

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Here's a picture of my Mom, Dad, and Jaxon on the Buzz Lightyear ride. And for the record, I made approximately 3,437 "Where's Dad?" jokes about his camouflage jacket. So many jokes, actually, that he only wore it for the one day. It was well worth it. He's never liked me very much anyway.

Jax, you're never gonna shoot any ducks in that jacket.
And why are we sitting in fluorescent green duck blinds?

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Jax had so much fun with his MiMi.....
Well, except when she forced his sleeping body
to pose for pictures with characters

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This picture will end up being the reason that I, and not Rach, will end up teaching Scarlett how to drive in 10 years. Seriously, she made Stevie Wonder look like Jeff Gordon. (I apologize if there are more modern examples, but I don't follow blind people or NASCAR).

"Alright Scarlett, Step One: Open your eyes."

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It's okay, Rach.
He's not going to ACTUALLY use those ears to fly.

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"No, Jaxon! That is inappropriate!
INAPPROPRIATE!!

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"OMG! This is SO embarrassing!
His Jiminy Cricket costume
is WAY better than mine!"

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Just me being retarded..........

2009-12-30T14:35:00.003-05:00

I was sitting in a meeting the other day, and I started to doodle a little picture. It started out as just a picture of a nose, but then grew into pretty much the ultimate 'I Love You' greeting card. I was going to give it to Rach, but I wanted to make sure I had the perfect caption first. So if anyone can beat these, let me know.

And by the way: No, I'm not an artist. And, Yes, I somehow remain gainfully employed.

"Everyone nose that I picked my one true love"

or how about....

"It 'tissue who gives me something to run to"

or maybe.....

"God bless you for being nothing to sneeze at"

And P.S. How about that tuxedo t-shirt? I've never been more proud of a piece of artwork.