Daddy...

"Daddy, did you call me a dickhead?"

"No hon, the lady in front of us is a dickhead"

"Oh, ok, Daddy"

Out of the mouths of 3 1/2 year old babes it shall be spoken. The wife then goes on to inform me that I need to filter my car language.

"But Sweetheart, dickhead is filtering!"

Post Office Blues

Went to the PO today for the second time in as many weeks. I'm not sure what it is about the post office, but here in my town apparently they have no rules as to when/how people work the counters there.

Last time I went on a Thursday morning and there must've been 10 people in line, with 2 people behind the counters. One guy was with a little old lady for about 5-10 minutes, while the other one was helping someone with a problem, so it took about 20 minutes to send my package. I only went in because the auto-package sending machine wasn't large enough for my box. Occasionally an employee would come out from the back, step up to a counter, and you'd think maybe they were about to open up, only to psych you out by turning around and walking back to the back.

Today I went a little later than last time...still a Thursday, but around 10.30ish am. I was the only person in line. There was one guy ahead of me, standing at an empty counter. I probably waited about 5 minutes wondering whether he had even been helped, or whether we were just wasting our time. Finally a guy came back and apparently couldn't find his package. Then another employee came out from the back, went up to a counter, fishing around in a drawer for something, then headed back again. She came back a minute later and finally opened up that counter.

Seriously, who the hell is running the post office? I don't know why they call it 'going postal', those bastards have it pretty good down at my local spot. I'm tempted to throw my lot in with them.

Funny things

So I just got a call from my sister in law, Sarah. I almost didn't answer, because the caller id said, "Hnatiuk Vasil", and that pretty much spells trouble right there. Hnatiuk is very much an Eskimo name in my book, and Vasil is short for Vagisil, so no thanks, I don't want what you're selling.

But sometimes I just have to see who it is, so I picked it up. Sarah was calling from New York. She lives in L.A. but is out on the east coast for some reason or another (maybe or maybe not traveling under the alias Hnatiuk Vasil.

Anyway, Sarahnatiuk Vasilcole was calling me to tell me she was on the subway platform in New York and she ran into my sister, who lives in New York. They have only met once I believe, a year and a half ago at my wedding.

Crazy.

You wanna hear another crazy story? Not sure what made me remember this, but as I was driving home from Target today I was thinking about a weird thing that happened to me several years ago. I was living in Seattle, and lived maybe 2 blocks from work. I was walking along a bike/jogger path heading home, on a nice and bright spring day. I was overtaking a young lady also walking down the path, and she started talking to me. You know, the usual, isn't it a lovely day sort of stuff. And she's carrying a can of beer, some tallboy of Pabst or something. And she's like, You want a drink of beer? And I'm like, Sure. So I drank from her can, there on the bike trail behind work at 3 pm in the afternoon.

I'll always cherish that memory.

Other updates:

Got a new roof put on. Looks good. We'll see what happens when it rains, but it was a relatively painless experience.

Noah's learning new words every day. Hot, bowl, ball (these may be the same word), Bob-bob for Spongebob

Lexi's learning grown-up phrases. Sample: I was absolutely right, I need my footy pajamas because it's too cold.

Or this one: We were driving yesterday and a lady in front of me was being a moron (going too slow, not signaling, the usual). I'm like, "Come on!"
Lexi: What's wrong Daddy?
Me: Nothing, she's just being dumb.
Lexi:Are you mad?
Me: No, not really, just a little bit, more irritated
Lexi: You must be just a little bit mad, you didn't say fuck.
Me: You're right, I'm not mad enough to say fuck.
Me: Don't say fuck.

And with that, my resolution to swear less is not going so well.

From the mouths of babes

M was in the kitchen last night making dinner when Lexi said, "Mommy's booty is fat".

I got blamed for it. M asked who taught her to say that and she pointed straight at me. Didn't even have to think about it. But I'm innocent.

I would've taught her to say humongous.

Broken Bones

Noah learned the hard way on Saturday that climbing out of your crib is only the half of it. What he failed to learn is what to do once he's on the outside. Much as the newly released prisoner's good intentions go out the window when faced with an unlimited opportunity for mischief, so did his first escape from behind bars end in failure.

I wasn't in the room, so I only heard the big 'thud', but I think he must have landed on his wrist somehow and hurt it in the process. It's not broken, and he's not in a cast, but he got a little splint to wear for the next 3 weeks just to make sure he doesn't re-injure it.

It's tough as a parent knowing when he needs to go to the doctor and when he does not. I tend to be overly cautious about going to the doctor when I'm ill. And by overly cautious I mean I don't go to the doctor. Of course, I don't want my kids to be denied medical care if they really need it, but who's to say when they need it.

First thing I noticed was him grabbing his hurt wrist with his good hand. This was an indication that he was hurt. I did not fail to notice this. If you're keeping score at home, that's one point for me.

Next, I ran a series of what you might term 'amateur' lab tests on the affected area. I bent each finger back, one at a time, and noticed he only cried when it was at an angle that would make me cry if a giant was twisting my fingers into some unnatural position. I also had him make a fist, which he didn't do, but that's because of the language barrier. While I waited for the translator to arrive, I asked him to hold his froggy blanket in his hand, and he was able to do this. Success! No doctor's visit needed. I'm applying to medical school next week.

Over the last couple days I'd say he's been normal for about 95% of the time. It was just now and again when he'd trip and fall, catching himself with his hands, then he'd grab his wrist again with the other hand. Apparently this happened this morning at daycare, and Paula decided he was bad enough to make a doctor's appointment. I think she was worried that she had overstepped her boundaries in making that decision, but I was grateful that she had, because she's with him all day long and can tell when things don't seem right. Plus it was so very slow at work today, I was happy to get out of there.

Anyway, the doctor said he looks fine, gave him the splint just to be on the safe side, and now he's back in the crib, sleeping like a baby. With pillows scattered all over at the base of his crib.

Next we need to work on getting him some scars.

I Am A Crappy Movie?

Just watched I Am Legend tonight.

Horrible. Awful.

I got excited last year when I first heard about it. I had never read the book, but the premise sounded cool, so I went out and got it. Great story...made me want to see the movie even more.

Then I saw the trailer. Will Smith hitting golf balls and driving through Manhattan. Started to worry about this.

Then I saw the movie, and now I'm incredulous at how bad it was. It starts with deer running through the streets of NYC, before a lion comes out of nowhere and kills the deer. I'm sorry, where the hell did lions come from in New York? The zoo? Last I heard, lions needed warm weather. Couldn't be here if Will Smith is wearing a leather jacket and pants.

The ending sucked the worst.

I give it 1 star out of 5. The star is because it has zombie dogs, and those are pretty rad.

One might think...

One might think that I often have periods of amnesia...where I forget that I have this blog to write on. One would be wrong. Blogging is like drinking...the times I most want to drink are when I'm somewhere I don't want to be. Usually this is work. And it's usually about 2 pm.

By the time I get home at night, and feed the kids, and bathe them, and put pajamas on and get them to bed, I've either a. forgotten about what I was so worked up about earlier that I just HAD to write about, or b. (sorry, I just forgot what b. was going to be).

Anyway, for those of you that still drop by occasionally to see if I've updated this...

Go away!

For those still left after that...

Have hope. One day I'll remember to write more. Probably at the same time that I start drinking at 2 in the afternoon.