Man-blog

Hi have recently received some flack from my male counterparts for having started a blog. I have heard of a man-purse, man-bags, manicures, manzier, man girdle and moobs...why can't there also be a man-blog? I'm sure all these guys keep a detailed journal next to their bed for posterity so they wouldn't need some way to record stories and thoughts. Chances are you also have some of the other "man" things I just listed... For the guys out there who made comments through g-chat, emails and hate mail and are again reading this blog post, you have just validated your interest in such a thing as your own blog. By the way...it was a sissy thing to not post such comments on the blog itself. As they say, grow a pair and get on with it. So call it a blog, a journal, or a man-blog if that makes you feel better. As for me, I shall keep writing.

Mr. Womack

There are two things that you must understand before I start this post. number 1: I watch The Bachelor with my wife and I'm not ashamed to admit it. For all you that have husbands who sheepishly sit beside you and claim that you are forcing them to watch it, you would do well to implement my next point in your house... Number 2: Lindsey and I have a rule when watching the Bachelor which is, stated plainly, "You have permission to be shallow."

One night a week, for 2 hours, I and anyone watching with me, have permission to be completely and utterly shallow. I can say what I want, about who I want, and can say it out loud. Nothing is off limits. Nothing. There are no lingering consequences or judgments like “Ty’s a jerk or Lindsey’s catty.” Sound worldly? It most definitely is.

Last season, Lindsey's mom was in town and she and I watched Bachelor together while Lindsey was gone somewhere. I paused the DVR before commencing the debauchery and kindly informed her of our rule before proceeding. No exceptions; even for mother’s in law. Confident you might say? Yeah, that or just stupidity on my part, but nevertheless, the rule is like a commandment in this house and may as well be etched in a stone tablet. It applies to all that cross the threshold. I must admit, most of the time I’m shaking my head in disbelief at the premise of the show and I usually end up fueling my theory that the show has a wild card and gets to pick one girl to continue on in the "journey" at least until the final four.

So who will Brad pick to be his tabloid buddy and quick possibly wife to be ("until boredom or scandal do we part")? I know, I know, the show has about a 10% success rate so there is no reason to be pessimistic about the outcome… “Remember [so and so] from [blah blah blah] season? They are still together and even have kids.” I think I must have heard that line 100 times. I digress. Truth be known, I don't really care who “wins”. It is the chase that’s fun.

My observations about the show in general:

• Matching ego against ego and then putting “love” on the line = good TV.
• An interesting twist on the show would be to put a normal guy, perhaps a little on the ugly side, on the show that doesn't spend 8 hours a day doing sit ups and another 3 staring at himself in the miror. Wouldn't it be fun to watch the crazies pretend to like that guy?
• Do you shake your head with me when people get so excited about being picked up in a helicopter? The shock should really come when a helicopter doesn’t show up to whisk them away. “Oh my word Brad, you are picking me up in a car! You are so creative!”
• Shamelessly, almost every date begins or ends in a swimming pool. That is when the real or fake personalities come out…
• Could Utah girl be any more crazy? The producers couldn’t script that kind of drama into the show if they tried…or could they? In case you haven’t guessed. Money is, in my opinion, the wild card pick that the producers get to keep in the journey…
• The guy has a therapist (frankly I’m beginning to wonder what type). Just when I thought the show couldn’t get any crazier, the producers found a guy and at least one girl that are truly crazy.
• Finally, the one line in the show that never changes by Mr. Chris Harrison, “Ladies, the final rose, Brad, when you are ready.” Does Chris think the desperate ladies in front of him have forgotten that there is only one rose left? Further, have we, the couch potatoes forgotten that there is one rose left? Chris, buddy, we have wasted 2 hours of our life or slightly less on DVR, but we have not become as dumb as rocks. We want, perhaps even more than the ladies in front of Mr. Womack, to get the flippin’ final rose past out so we can go to bed!

There you have it. My two cents.

Father of the year?....not going to happen in 2011

WARNING: This post is long and does not contain pictures. Lindsey told me that blogs are no good without pictures. I promise to keep this in mind next time...but this post is long enough on its own. I'm not sure who I'm even talking to... or warning given that I have had this blog for all of 3 days...but YOU have been warned nonetheless.

Ok folks, some quick facts for you in no particular order:

• child (one of mine)
• cold
• rain boots
• bump on head
• doors
• kid shovels
• crib
• street
• strangers
• police

If you have jumped to the conclusion from the facts above, that one of my kids bumped his head using a shovel to bury a stranger's rain boots in the street, while being monitored by police during a cold afternoon when his post-surgery-gimp-of-a-dad thought he was behind closed doors in his crib...you are a little ways off from what actually happened this afternoon... Let me put the pieces of this story together "then I'm going to tell you a story that will make your balls shrink to the size of raisins" (line stolen from the movie Notting Hill for effect).

Lindsey was away from the house doing what moms do often; picking up one kid and dropping off another. I recently had surgery to repair a ruptured achillies (blog post pending) from which post-op swelling has kept me pretty much home bound for the last two weeks, and was busy working in my home office. I had just put Bennett (yup, that is the kid involved in this plot) in his crib for a nap.

15-20 minutes later, I heard the doorbell ring. I was a little late in getting to the door... okay, okay, I had decided it wasn't worth hopping on one foot all the way down stairs to see who it was... and after a minute heard a women say "hello, anyone here?" A steady dose of Percocet and Ibuprofen has dulled the pain from my foot, but has not dulled my voice recognition abilities. The women's voice was not Lindsey's and was very unfamiliar.

I jumped up, as much as a one good legged man can jump, and hopped quickly to the top of the stairs to see who the intruder was. I was met with the question, "There is a child outside in the street all alone. Do you know whose it could be?"... stomach starting to drop... I quickly (a relative term here) hopped to the boy’s room to check on Bennett. HE WAS NOT IN HIS CRIB!

Holy crap batman...stomach now below sea level as I hopped back to the top of the stairs, "He is mine! He was taking a nap!"

I hopped down the stairs and out the front door. (In case you haven't gathered by now, rupturing your achilles blows...again, blog post pending.) As I hopped out onto the front porch there were 3 or 4 cars stopped in the street and everybody was knocking on all the neighbor's doors to see who the crappy parents, in this case parent, were/was. With all eyes fixed on the gimp, hopping on the front porch, looking like I had not had a real shower in a while (that is, a shower that does not involve garbage bags, duct tape and, yes, a fair amount of hopping...sigh...), the Allendale Police pulled up. Perfect. Enough about me, where the hell was Bennett!

Bennett was just about asleep in one of the cars, lying in the arms of the woman that saw a two year old wondering by himself and stopped. Bless her soul.

Rewind to how it happened.

1. The B-man managed to get out of his crib. (A new skill which he learned today and mastered for the rest of the night...a bed is in his near future.)

2. He snuck past the office door. Yes folks, this two year old prides himself in the art of stealth and devious maneuvers. Really, I'm only giving credit where credit is deserved.

3. He continued his shifty behavior, skillfully descending the stair case without so much as a creak, which in our 87 year old house is not an easy feat.

4. Next he put on some rain boots. Although there was no rain outside, he is no dummy... it is friggin' cold here in New Jersey. The boots are another indicator of is calculated escape.

5. He opened 4 doors along the way, none of which were locked but, for a two year old, are not easy to open.

6. He took a few breaths of fresh, crisp air (ok...it was down right cold) on the back porch where he was finally free. Oh, and there he located his shovels.

7. Finally, Bennett set off around the house, down the driveway and out onto the street. He then, of course, headed toward the busy street (40 mph speed limit) a few houses down.

Now fast forward back to the gimp who was now trying to explain to an officer of the law how in the world this could have happened.

Police officer's question/comment while up in Bennett's room: "The bar on the crib is up. It doesn't look like he could have got out of that, could he?"

Doh-head: "Yes sir he did, but I didn't know he could. I am certain he was in there taking a nap. I put him in the crib myself!"

Things were going downhill fast...Where the hell was Lindsey!

Police officer: "Was he sleeping in rain boots?"

Dead-beat: "No sir. He often puts his boots on himself. He must have put them on before he went outside" (The other night he proudly walked out in the living room with Lindsey's knee high boots on.)

The officer gave me a look after this answer and I thought to myself, "How hard could hopping in handcuffs be?"

When we returned down stairs to the woman who was ready to take Bennett in as a foster child said, "He has a big bump on his head that is growing by the minute and he is acting really lethargic." Oh boy, I'm going to get tasered...

The night before, Bennett tripped and bonked his head on the living room table. Yes, the bump was still there and starting to give him a black eye, but no, the bump was not still "growing by the minute" or the hour for that matter. Further, he was "lethargic" because he just spent the last 15 minutes in a stranger’s car and quite frankly he knew he was in it deep for sneaking out! I can just imagine him plotting how to get out of this one...

Anyway, the police officer and guardian angel eventually left and I hugged my Bennett for a long time...all the while seeking advice from him about how to explain this story to Lindsey...

So there is the tale of when Bennett tried to escape. We later asked him what he was doing and he told us in 2 year old words that he was shoveling snow. Well played, Bennett...You were out helping your mom out because your gimp-for-a-dad can no longer shovel snow (or ice). A statement which has the undertone of "Go ahead, try and be mad at me." Believe me…I tried and was not successful.

All jokes aside, we are really lucky and blessed nothing bad happened. Give your kids a hug and lock the doors folks. They are capable of more than you think.

As a parting note and in the spirit of full disclosure...a few hours after the "incident", I went to Ava's dance class with Lindsey and the boys. While Lindsey was away and I was watching Christian...well technically he and I were both supposed to be watching Ava dance...he wondered off to find a toy he left in the car. After a few frantic moments, a lot more hopping around and another pair of soiled under-pants, we found Christian outside the YMCA, without his coat on, in 25 degree weather, heading toward the car... Strike two for dad. Doh!

First blog of blogs

Hi there. Lindsey thinks I need a creative outlet and has been wanting me to start a blog for a long...long time. I've been posting mental blog posts for quite some time. They have been good. They have been funny. They have been spectacular.
So what does a 30 year old, father of 3, Utalifornewjersian, have to say that warrants a blog of my own you might ask? Nothing really...but I can promise you some dorky jokes, some pictures of our attempts at home remodeling, and my insightful/profound/witty commentary (oh yeah, and humble) on pretty much everything from religion to politics to The Bachelor.