My Son's Balls Are Making Him Competitive

Everything is a freakin’ competition with the boy these days. EVERYTHING!!

Going to the car. Daughter gets elbowed from behind and face-plants as the boy flies by to be the first to a door that is still locked and holds not a single trophy for him on the other side.

Walking down stairs….it’s like watching a murder scene in slow motion as he plows by me, throws his sister against the banister and jumps the last five steps so he can crash himself to the floor and claim victory as carnage and blood drip down the stairs in his wake.

Taking a shower. Within two minutes of walking out of the bathroom, I’ll hear the water cut-off and “daddy I’m finished!!!” echoes through the house till it finds my vulnerable eardrums a mere three seconds before ultimate relaxation comes over me. I vow to tape record this so when he’s a teenager and spends a half hour masturbating washing in the shower, I can prove that he has the ability to take one quickly.

Drinking his milk. The daughter doesn’t even like milk…so who the fuck is he racing? He’ll choke it down…white shit spewing from his nose, eyes watering like hell, slam the cup on the table and announce, “finished!!” while still breathing hard and sporting one kick-ass milk mustache. And for what?!

Playing Wii. I’m gonna just throw the damn thing away. I’m determined not to let him win all the time so that he learns to be a respectful loser, but damn….it’s like getting kicked in the nuts every two minutes. It’s painful and makes me cry, fall to my knees and want my mommy to hold me.

I’m competitive, but nothing like this. Is it the red hair? Is it his balls? That’s what it’s gotta be…those tiny little marbles of his are probably working overtime growing, expanding…. It’s like Donald Trump moved into my kids sac, started building skyscrapers everywhere, and decided to run for mayor, start his own TV show, take over the circulatory system, and overthrow his brain chemistry all in one foul swoop.

And the daughter totally provokes it. We’ll be on our way out the door to go somewhere and the boy will be off chasing something shiny in a corner. Then the daughter gets that evil grin and says, “Grrraaaayyyssooonnn….. I’m gonna be first to the caaaaarrrrr.”

And his head will poke up from behind the couch, and immediately he springs to his feet, vaults the ottoman, ducks and slides under my waiting arm to stop him, slams his sister against the front step railing, falls on concrete but turns it into a tumble, and slams into the car door, flipping around claiming victory! And behind him is a pissed dad, a mother picking up a bleeding, crying daughter, and a cat slowly slipping out of the house through the wide-open door while everyone’s distracted.

I just hope someday his competitiveness can be brought under control, harnessed, and used to make mommy and daddy rich beyond their wildest dreams. Until then…..I’ll I guess I’ll just write about it.

I Guest Blogged!

The wonderful and talented Ms. Mimi Ruse (@mimiruse on Twitter) politely asked if I would do a guest blog on www.IHeartMimi.com.

I found a quiet place to hide and asked my imaginary friend, Seemore, if I should drop some words on ole Mimi for her blog or if I should very rudely email her and tell her to go suck on a tail pipe. Seemore’s always the first to conclude the tail pipe option is the way to go, but I knew differently. I’m a huge fan of her blog, enjoy listening to her nonsense on Twitter, and love her photos of her beautiful daughter. So I wrote her back and said, “sure, I’d love to.”

And here it is: Only Time Will Tell.

Oooh...and one more thing!

Two days have gone by…and we’re already at the “oooh…and one more thing!” phase as the wifey walks out the front door to her jobby job. Oh how evil the flip-side of the coin is. There’s a part of me that thinks that after dropping an “oooh…and one more thing!” list on me, the wifey jumps in the car, cranks the radio, and bee bops her fine ass to work knowing I’m at home throwing stuff animals at my son’s imaginary friends, punching pillows, kicking cushions, and wasting valuable time that could be spent taking care of the “simple activities we’d talked about this morning.”

Wifey: “Hey, so are you picking up the kids today from school?”

Me: “Uh..yeah, I can…but I’m supposed to be making calls, and working on getting a job right?”

Wifey: “Yes dear, but I just thought you….oh, just forget it, I’ll do it.”

Me: “No…I want to do it, I just don’t want it to become this….”

Wifey: “Oooh …and one more thing, could you clean the cat litter box? I just walked down in the basement and it smells like your dirty underwear down there.”

Me: “My dirty underwear is down there…”

Wifey: “Oooh….and one more thing, please don’t spend any money, we really need to be careful.”

Me: “We needed milk…and you said, ‘oooh…and one more thing, could you get some hummus’ remember….!’”

Wifey: “Yeah… I remember, but do you really need all that beer!?”

Me: “Yes!!! Yes I do!!! Do you really need all that..”

Wifey: “Oooh…..and one more thing …can you please just wash one load of laundry…?”

She was a stay-at-home-mom for almost a year. I feel like such an ass cause I can count on my hands, and five of my friends’ hands, how many times I dropped the “oohhh” bomb on her before bolting out the door with the confident feeling that when I got home, the children would be dressed in their dinner clothes, smiling, pulling chairs out for me, asking me how my day was while dinner was wafting through the air, and birds were grasping my top coat and hat to be put away.

And now the shoe is on….yes…the wifey’s foot. And, she doesn’t mean it maliciously. At least I don’t think. I like to think she has no clue that she’s pulling the payback page right out of the book and shoving it up my ass. I like to think she’s giving me payback, without even knowing it! But, that would just be my ignorance showing again.  

Moving Onward

It was a day I’ll never forget…standing midway up the stairs looking down at my wife as she’s scrambling to leave with the kids as she takes them to school before heading to her part-time job. The night before we’d shared glasses of white wine and agreed one hundred percent – given the decision before us, I’d stay with the job. But in that brief moment…in my heart of hearts I knew it was wrong, and I know she did too…..

Last Tuesday I was given an option at my job. Take half your pay beginning December 1, or be fired and take three months of your full pay and benefits through February.

My daughter had just finished two days in the hospital fighting H1N1. The next day my son came down with H1N1. Two days later my wife came down with H1N1. Three days later all was well and it was my first time being able to actually deal with the reality of the decision before me. Before us.

A friend of mine who I respect fully called late Sunday night and dropped all kinds of entrepreneurial motivational words my way. They were sincere….they made me think and dream about what could be. Quite honestly it’s that euphoria time in your life where your chest gets filled with air and you think – “fuck yeah I can do that…I totally can do that!!!” But then that child screams, and the wife asks for help, discussions of bills fill legal pads, and reality creeps through every weakness you never knew you had.

We went to bed knowing I would remain in my job, despite half the pay, despite the slam to my ego having to walk in day-to-day knowing that everyone and board members knew what had happened. Knowing I was now a dying blip on the budget.

Then I woke up….and I knew what to do. I agonized, I talked with the wifey, I called multiple people, I stood outside Union Station freezing my hands off holding the phone and making sure I could hear every opinion from every person I respected….and then I knew. It was time to just leave.

In twelve years since I’ve graduated college I’ve never NOT worked. I’ve in fact been consistently rewarded for my work. I’ve been given raises, praises, and opportunities that I felt I’ve grasped. We’ve moved from mill house, to larger house, to a larger city. And yet…..I haven’t stopped to really understand my fortune.

For the past three nights, my family has sat at the table, together, eating dinner. That hasn’t happened in days. Last night, we had “game night.” First time in a few weeks.

I laid in bed with my seven-year-old son….and told him what happened. It was a huge stretch…but I’ve always been honest with him.

“So, are you upset daddy lost his job? Cause it’s OK, but I want you to know how lucky daddy is that he’s going to get a paycheck for the new few months.”

“Yes, but I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I want you to scream it to the world, cause maybe that’ll help me land a job, my man.”

“OK”

“But in the meantime, you know what’s killer about this?”

“What”

“I’m gonna roll-up every day at 2:45 at your school with….the kickball. At least till it snows, then we’re going home.”

I’m a lucky lucky bastard. I talked to my best friend tonight and found out his wifey lost her job a month or so ago. I never knew. She’s no different than the thousands around the country. Some have no kids, others have many. Some got severance, others didn’t. Some are ashamed…..hell, we’re all ashamed. Some are about to find out a week before Christmas….some won’t have a Christmas.

Today I was put in my fucking place. Today I became a statistic. Today I was given a huge opportunity. Today it’s up to me to figure out tomorrow….

My Son the Ninja Wedgie Master

The wedgie….it’s played so many rolls in my life over the years.

Most recently my son is obsessed with giving the daughter a wedgie when he rough-houses with her. It’s origins are beyond me. When I was in first grade I can promise you giving someone a wedgie was not even on my radar. I think I was more worried about whether I had the most bad-ass lunch box in the cafeteria or not, and if I would get called on to read allowed in class that day.

But I walk in the room yesterday and find my son standing on the couch while holding the back of my daughter’s pants which is now halfway up her ass – and they’re BOTH laughing like hell.

Earlier in the week I’m playing Mario Kart with the little bastard and I’m getting so entranced by the world of Wii, that I didn’t even notice the boy had put his remote down and snuck behind me. Seconds later I’m wearing half my boxer-briefs up my ass.

Instead of making him use his toothbrush to clean my skibbies, I sit him down and explain how he could really hurt someone by hoisting their entire body in the air by tiny shreds of cloth slicing through their poop-shooter. He laughed during my entire speech.

When I was in middle school there was a ritual that the eighth graders would go after the sixth and seventh graders on the soccer team and give them wedgies in the locker room or out on the field. I ran like a little bitch that day….through woods, jumping benches, even down to the parking lot where parents were waiting to pick up the very kids that eventually showed me that in fact your tighty-whities can stretch from your ass to the top of your head.

But even then – I was 11 years old – not 7!!

Wedgies can be alluring in so many ways. Thongs….love em. Panty lines revealing a hidden wedgie problem underneath…perfect. Bathing suit creeping up the wrong way….I’m looking. Whale tail revealing itself…I’m thanking the lord. My son hanging his sister by her underwear….not cool my man, not freakin’ cool.

But then I over-think it like I do EVERYTHING, and I’m all: “holy shit – is my kid gonna be a bully?’

 I mean, I wasn’t a bully growing up. I was too focused on trying to make everyone like me. I was the class-clown, usually at my own expense. So where is he learning this crap and who’s ass do I have to kick?

But then I watch him more closely with other kids, at his school, in his class, around the neighborhood….and he’s just like me. He throws himself to the ground constantly getting kids to laugh at him. He makes farting noises with his tongue cause the kids laugh. And he shows his teachers pictures of me naked because they’ll give him an A on tests if he promises to just STOP.

He’s a good dude, he’s just learned that lifting his sister up by her Hello Kitty panties makes her laugh. And now he knows, when he does it to daddy, you get threatened with having a Wii control shoved up your nose.