Mommy, Where Do Babies Come From?

The other day the fam and I were driving along when the boy dropped the bomb of all bombs.

No, not the bomb he dropped yesterday when he said: “Macy, do you smell something?”

Macy: “No, why?”

Grayson: “Cause I just farted and it’s horrible.”

No, not that bomb, although, that little interaction does illustrate the truth that girls are soooo much smarter than little dudes.

Here’s what I mean.

So, we’re driving along and it’s quiet, which means either there’s some pontification going on, or all holy hell is about to break loose.

This is when pontification reared its ugly head.

Grayson: “Mommy, are you going to have another baby?”

The Wife: “No honey, it’s not possible. I mean, your daddy and I feel that our family is complete with just Macy and you.”

Grayson: “No, I mean, just say you wanted another baby, you would have to re-marry someone, right?”

At that point the wife looks at me and I immediately go into “Look As Though Traffic Is Horrible And You’re Trying To Plow Your Way Through So You Don’t Have To Engage In Conversations With Your Children About Where Babies Come From” look.

Macy: “Grayson!!! Baby’s come from a seed in the mommy’s belly, silly!!”

Grayson: “Macy!! Shhhh. Seriously mommy, if you wanted another baby you’d re-marry someone, right?”

The Wife: “No honey, I would have another baby with your father, but we have decided that we don’t want to expand the family any further. We love Macy and you and our family is perfect!”

Macy: “Grayson, you’re so silly!!! Babies come from seeds in the mommy’s belly. They grow from there.”

Grayson: “Well how do the seeds get there?”

Macy: “I don’t know.”

Grayson: “Mommy?”

The Wife: “Have you been working on your spelling words today Grayson? Cause you have a review test on Friday!”

Grayson: “How does the seed for babies get into the mommy’s belly?”

At this point I’m pulling close to the guy driving in the next lane, motioning for him to roll down his window in the hopes I can sell him on letting me climb into his car for safety.

The Wife: “We’re not going to have anymore brothers or sisters for you kids to let’s rock-out to some Barenaked Ladies!!! Turn it up Dad!!”

Me: “Sounds good!!”

As I turn up the radio…..

Grayson: “I know what you’re doing. At some point I still want to know how the seed gets in the mommy’s belly! I won’t forget that question!”

We have no idea how the girl knew babies come from a “seed.” I’m just glad she doesn’t know how the seed gets there, otherwise I’d have to put on my biker outfit and go stomp some ass somewhere.

But regardless, I’m ready for the boy to bring it back-up so I can tell him where babies come from.

“Son, babies happen when the mommy slips and falls on the ground and the daddy goes to help her up, then slips and falls on top of her. When they get back up the mommy has a seed in her belly and 9 months later a baby is born.

“Now who wants ice cream?!!!”

A Discussion About Shirtless Dudes & Chicks on Bikes

Yesterday marked a sad sad day for this brother. It was the last game of the World Cup. I’m a long-time soccer geek and live for the World Cup.

This past weekend the wife and I watched the Germany third-place game. I thought I’d be all manly and watch the game with her and impress the hell out of her with my soccer knowledge. By the end of the game I thought for sure she’d be ripping my clothes off and confessing that I’m quite possibly the sexiest gap-toothed bastard on the planet.

Instead…..

Wifey: “So when do they take their shirts off again?”

Me: “Seriously, that’s all you care about? That really hurts…that hurts down deep.”

Wifey: “So when do they take their shirts off again?”

Me: “Not all the players do that…some of them kiss their country’s emblem that’s on their shirt, some just run around like they’re trying to get away from the rest of their team that wants to tackle the hell out of them.”

Wifey: “So we have to wait for them to score before they do it? Well this sucks.”

Me: “Would it make you feel better if I took my shirt off.”

Wifey: “Oh God no…. I mean, if you’re warm yes, but don’t do it on account of me. Love you honey.”

Me: “Why is it that I want you to take your shirt off worse than Gary Busey wants a gum-reduction, but you say, ‘oh God no!?’”

Wifey: “Hey, what’s that? Why are they touching it with their hands?”

Me: “Because their wives won’t touch it anymore for them. So now they have to do it all on their own!”

Wifey: “Ooooh…OK…we’re even now jackass. At least I told you I loved you after I made you my bitch.”

Me: “They’re throwing the ball in, it went out of bounds.”

Wifey: “So why aren’t there any women in the Tour de France? It’s 2010. That’s pretty messed-up they won’t let any women in.”

Me: “You honestly think a whole bunch of guys got together and made the unanimous group decision to not allow a super fit women wearing extremely tight clothes with her ass perched high in the air for all to see while riding a bike for a solid month throughout all of France? I don’t think so.”

Wifey: “That’s true. She’d probably become the Yoko of the Tour de France anyway.”

Me: “And when she won a stage she could get off her bike, run towards the crowd and rip her shirt off like soccer players. That would be hot.”

Wifey: “You’re a pig.”

Me: “But…you…just a minute ago you were…oh forget it. I’m going upstairs to watch the game.”

Wifey: “Can you pour me some more wine before you go? Love you honey!!”



No, You Call the Babysitter

So the wifey’s college roommate visited this past weekend. And we decided to get a babysitter so we could enjoy some kid-free time. A mere four days from the impending visit I realized, holy shit, we don’t have a sitter and I’m going to end up being left in the lurch as these two ladies hit the town leaving me behind.

Kicking into baby-sitter ninja action I decided to take matters into my own hands and have a conversation with the wifey:

Me: “Hey…so we should definitely get a sitter for Saturday night.”

Wifey: “Go for it slugger.”

Me: “But you got the Mecca of babysitter lists months ago. Can’t you just call one or two and make it happen?”

Wifey: “I lost it.”

Me: “You what? Are you serious woman? You lost that shit? That’s like someone giving me the unlock code for constant, unlimited free porn and then losing it…it just doesn’t happen!!!”

Wifey: “Call me ‘woman’ one more time. Seriously…say it…call me ‘woman’!”

Me: “Look, your college roommate’s gonna be here in …shit, what day is it?”

Wifey: “You really need a job! Seriously…you need to get out of the house, look at the sun, enjoy the day…you’re losing your mind in the basement!”

Me: “All right…let’s focus. We need a sitter. Who are we gonna call?”

Wifey: “ ‘We?’ No, you…you are gonna make that happen while I’m at work.”

Me: “Awe come on…that’s fucked. Guys don’t call to ask for babysitters. Seriously…there are rules against that shit.”

Wifey: “Rules…really? And who the hell came up with these rules? You’re just as capable as me to call and ask for a sitter.”

Me: “I know but seriously…what if her dad answers? I’ll be all, ‘hey man…is Tiffany there?’ And he’ll be all, ‘Who the hell is this? You sound like you’re 40 years old. Who the hell is this?’”

Wifey: “How in the hell can he tell if you’re 40 by the sound of your voice?”

Me: “Are you kidding…cause I’m all experienced in life and shit. Listen to me. I totally sound like I’m 40 and involved in 40-year-old life stuff…seriously listen…the stocks rose eight percent today as the Dow didn’t quite respond as well as investors had hoped and…”

Wifey: “Whoa!!! Wait…you’re calling our potential babysitter with stock options? Seriously you dork…seriously!!?”

Me: “I’m just saying that I know stuff! And I know that if I call the sitter her dad, her boyfriend, or her brother will answer the phone and they’ll be pissed and I’ll probably get killed when all I wanted to do was freakin’ drink beers with you and the college roommate away from the kids.”

Wifey: “Wow. You seriously need help. Look, bottom line is, I’m going out with Stacy whether you get a babysitter or you ARE the babysitter. So, ball’s in your court Mr. Man. Make it happen or don’t.”

Me: “You’re gonna regret it when I get killed and you have to raise these kids by yourself.”

Wifey: “It’ll be rough but I’m pretty sure we’ll pull through.”

Me: “Shit! Fine…I’ll call. Hand me the phone WOMAN.”

The Wifey & I Have a Talk

Wifey: “I did this for an entire freakin’ summer you douche!”

Me: “I don’t know how in the hell you pulled this off. Were you on crack the whole time or what? I mean, I’m two minutes from jumping off a bridge.”

Wifey: “That’s why men could NEVER birth children.”

Me: “Fuck yeah we couldn’t!!! The world as we know it wouldn’t exist. Humans would have died out centuries ago. We wouldn’t be having this conversation cause I’d be a tiny worthless sperm cell sitting in front of the egg all: “screw that dude, you go ahead…I’m good. I’ll just take pictures of you being all bad-ass and put it on your Facebook page!”

Wifey: “Speaking of Facebook, you seriously need to be more careful about what you put on there. People there know who you are. It’s not Twitter jackass.”

Me: “Say that shit on Twitter…people will cut you woman.”

Wifey: “If Grayson ever calls me ‘woman’ cause he over-hears you saying that to me I swear you’ll need to wear a cup around me for a year.”

Me: “Look – you’re getting off the point. Three days!! Three day’s I’ve taken the kids sledding. And today I added a third child. And there was crying…anger…crying…ambulances…more crying. But it’s only been three days. How the hell did you do it for three months?”

Wifey: “Seriously – snow and ice and you want a medal?”

Me: “And when I got home I made snacks. The children loved the peanut buttery snacks. And TV was on. And all was good. Serenity rained down upon the land. And then Grayson came down stairs crying like a baby cause your freakin’ “mini-me” daughter socked him in the eye for trying to teach her how to say “the!” The simplest word on the planet – “the!!!” Well, next to “a.”

Wifey: “She hit him in the eye? What did you do?!”

Me: “I Googled ‘daughter hits brother in eye’ and a ton of videos came up. And they were so awesome. So then I Skyped my brother to show him some of these videos so I could see his reaction. It was hilarious. Actually – get the lap-top you HAVE to see this one...”

Wifey: “You seriously need medication you ADD bastard! What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Oh, no…it’s cool. The kids made up and were making art projects by the time I got off Skype! In fact, they made you a Valentines card!”

Wifey: “For the record – when I leave in the morning for work…I leave scared for my children’s lives!”

Me: “You’re taking me all wrong. I just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you did as a stay-at-home-mom for a year. I’ve been doing it for not even two weeks and I hurt. I hurt everywhere. And I appreciate you.”

Wifey: “No!”

Me: “No what?”

Wifey: “No. No we cannot have sex tonight. I still have to write like 30 thank you notes from Christmas.”

Me: “Damn you and your ninja mind-tricks. How in the hell did you know?!”

Wifey: “You’re like the cat, dumb-ass. You only come around all happy and caring and stuff when you want to be fed. In your case, when you want some action. Back off dude!”

Me: “No, seriously. I appre-ci-ate you!!!”

Wifey: “It….ain’t….happ-en-ing!!!”

Me: “I took your children to see the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie woman! Baby Jesus…that should get me sex for 6 weeks straight!”

Wifey: “’Your children?’ Really…you just dropped the ‘your’ word in talking about ‘our’ children? And also – idiot-boy - I was there, too! We shared the pain together!”

Me: “Holy shit you saw that movie too?! I swear to god…if I ever see anything as awful as that again…I told you I appreciate you right?”

Wife: “You seriously scare me. And, No!!!”

Me: “Fine! The appreciative train has left the station. You’re gonna have to work for it now!”

Wifey: “Damn. That sucks. And you said we weren’t doing Christmas gifts this year. Hey – can you toss me that pillow before you leave the room? That’d be great!”