Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my Maryland Terrapin-loving husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
I am writing this on Monday night after the National Championship game and I want to disclose something right from the get go... I hate Duke.
Now that that is out of the way, let me explain my dilemma.
With Duke's win, I am now the Bowie High School Class of 1981 college basketball pool winner. I have no idea what the first place prize is... there was no entry fee so I can only assume that the only prize is that I am now considered the greatest student ever to graduate from Bowie High... at least for a year!
Being admired and revered by my classmates is kind of cool, even if there is no great financial gain.
But with any great reward and honor, it comes with a price.
Duke won... and I hate Duke!
So this was sort of like Sophie's Choice for me. Do I root for a Duke win and claim my throne as the King of the Class of '81?... or do I go with... fill in the blank with any other NCAA basketball team... in this case Wisconsin.
The answer was simple... I go with Wisconsin because... I hate Duke! Let some other classmate be King for a year!
It wasn't always this way.
In 1986, when Coach K led Duke to a national championship runner-up finish, I was all in for the upstart Blue Devils... plus they were in the ACC with my Maryland Terps. If the Terps weren't going to win, go with the other ACC teams.
As for Coach K, what was not to like... he went to West Point, he paid his dues under guys like Bobby Knight, he took over a floundering basketball program for a university that could not even pronounce his name correctly. He struggled for a couple years, and then he began to win with what seemed to be some great kids.
But then he continued to win... and that became annoying. And his nice kids became obnoxious McDonald's All-Americans. They became easy to hate.
Add that to the fact that I went to the University of Maryland and I was a lifelong Terrapin fan.
As Maryland became a basketball rival... a rivalry that has always been denied by Coach K... my hatred increased. It hit fever-pitch when the Terps were competing with... and beating... Duke. Coach K whined and cried about the Maryland fans... say this next line in your most nasally whiney voice... They threw things at my players and yelled vulgar things!
I will concede that nobody should throw anything at opposing players, but to be fair, they were throwing balled-up copies of the Diamondback... that is the college newspaper for those of you that could not get accepted to the University of Maryland.
The students threw them in the direction of the opposing team at every home game right after the starting line-ups were announced... yet only one coach complained! And the complaints only surfaced after Gary Williams and the boys starting kicking the Blue Devil's rear ends.
Funny how the White Rat... my affectionate little nick name for Coach K... was only offended when the Terps were competitive. Apparently, paper only hurts when you lose.
And, of course the Duke fans are nothing but class... what with stripping down to your speedo while other teams shoot free throws. Boy, are they clever!
The hatred grew stronger when Maryland left the ACC to join the Big 10. The rivalry that was denied now became a rallying cry for Coach K. Again use your whiney voice... They must not have thought of it as a rivalry or they would have never left the ACC!
As if anyone who decides to leave a conference where you can compete with my Blue Devils once or twice a year is crazy.
Of course, if Duke had a football program, it may have also considered leaving the ACC.
What's that?... Duke has a football program?... Who knew?
Look, I am not bitter or anything, but when I was filling out my brackets, I was struck by the fact that Duke was put in a region with fifteen teams that were all seeded 15th... or lower. Their toughest opponent was an over-rated Gonzaga team. The NCAA paved their way to the final four with also-rans and underachievers (see Gonzaga).
During the National Championship game, we all had to listen to how brilliant Coach K is when he... get this... sat two players who were in foul trouble! He actually had two of his better players sit on the bench so they would not pick up another foul.
Wow! Why hasn't every other coach figured this out? I mean, Coach K solved the Rubik's cube of basketball. Think about this... if he had left those players in the game and they had picked up a third foul, that would have severely limited their playing time in the second half.
To quote Bill Rafferty, He massaged the last four minutes of the half!
I think Rafferty wanted to give Coach K a massage! And I do believe that Rafferty wanted to end the massage Withhhh a Kisssss!
I feel this is an opportune time to explain something to those of you that have not watched Duke over the years. Lean in close because I am going to let you in on a little secret...
It is highly unlikely that any NCAA referee would actually call three fouls in a half against any Duke player, much less the two best Duke players. They were safe. They could have pillaged and plundered and still not have picked up a third foul in that first half.
Now, the Duke supporters... hereinafter referred to as Duke athletic supporters... will be quick to point out that Wisconsin only had two team fouls in the first half... a point that Coach K addressed in his halftime interview.
Guess what... he mentioned it and the refs took care of it.
The second half produced the normal Duke disproportionate foul differential. Wisconsin got into the double bonus and and Duke never got into the single bonus. Just for good measure, with the game tied, the refs missed a Duke player stepping out of bounds right before a Duke basket, and they later ignored a replay that clearly showed a ball going out of bounds off of a Duke player's finger.
I mean, even the most ardent Duke athletic supporter would admit that the out of bounds play was right there... in slow motion replay. They were looking right at it. All of America saw it except the three referees.
On a side note... I think it may have been the same officiating crew that had the Maryland-West Virginia game when Melo Trimble nearly got beheaded by a moving pick. That crew also checked the replay for a flagrant foul... but did nothing (technically, the correct replay call because they somehow missed the initial foul that occurred right in the middle of the court).
Let me be clear... I am not bitter.
Okay, maybe I am a little bitter!
I am not sure what has changed about Duke and Coach K... except for the winning part.
Wow, is that why I hate Duke, because they always win?
Nah, that is not it... I mean... I am not going to hate Maryland when the Terps win next year's National Championship and become a perennial powerhouse.
You know, now that I think about it, I am glad Duke won because now as the King of the Class of 1981, I can decree 2016 as the Year of the Terrapin!
FEAR THE TURTLE!
So it is written, so it shall be!
Friday, April 10, 2015
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... My brother seems to be winning Holy Week...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
It's Holy Week at the Palumbos'. It is only Holy Thursday and I am off to a bad start.
Before I tell you why, I want to remind everyone that several months ago, we renovated our home so that my mother could move in with us. We shortened our living room and made it into a bedroom... we expanded our powder room and created a full size bathroom with a walk-in shower... we turned our laundry room into a closet... and we moved our laundry room into our two car garage... rendering it useless as a two car garage.
Our house was upside down for about a month.
No problem... my mom is worth it.
She was lonely in her home after my dad passed away, and I had the perfect solution... a home with a wife and three kids that were there all the time. I told her that this was both the best and the worst part about our home... my wife and kids are there all the time!!!
But it is all good... Cheryl is a great caretaker and the boys could not be more helpful to their grandma. I chip in wherever I can, and I thought my mom was grateful... until today.
A little back story: my mother is Lutheran and we are Catholic... pretty close if you ask me. If you can get by the women pastors and a few other minor details, they are practically the same.
Author's note... that last line was for my lovely, life-long Catholic wife. She likes to remind me of the Eucharist whenever I say they are practically the same. She blames Martin Luther for the whole mix-up. Or as she says... "He is the one that did the leaving in the Fire Swamp." I love it when she seamlessly weaves in references to the Princess Bride in the middle our religion talks. Is it any wonder that I love her so much?
Anyway, because of our differing religions, there are times when we will drop my mother off at her church and proceed to our Mass. Today... Holy Thursday... was one of those days. Fortunately, both of our start times were 7:30, so that was no problem.
The problem was that our Catholic Mass was going to be a marathon with the procession of about eighty altar servers, the washing of the feet, robing of the new altar servers, and a full-blown adult choir that takes all the fifteen-second prayers and turns them into Stairway to Heaven. Then the Priest does the whole transubstantiation thing that my wife so adores, and BOOM... you're at two-and-a-half hours.
The Lutherans, on the other hand, get it done and get it done quickly, so she was going to be stranded for more than an hour.
What to do... What to do.
I went to the ball field with Matthew in the afternoon and when I returned, Cheryl told me that she had it all worked out. My brother Jeff volunteered to meet Mom at her church and attend that service alongside of her.
Great... I guess we can get her afterward from his house. Done.
Exactly... by the way, Cheryl unnecessarily whispered, when I told her that your brother was going to go to church with her, she was so touched... she cried!
What? She cried? She never cries for anything that I do for her. What an attention-seeking bum Jeff is! I would have dragged her rear end to church every now and again and stuck around had I known it was going to make her cry! I mean the services are kind of the same anyway!
They are not... and do I have to tell you why... again!
You know... I blame you for this riff between my mom and me. If you would just get over the Eucharist thing, we could hit the Lutheran church every now and again... and make my mother cry!
You are so sad.
Why would you say that? Paul is a Lutheran minister and Mom adores him... and now Jeff is trying to get his religious piece of the pie. Of course, I could use this to my advantage... let this little turf war between Paul and Jeff play out... and then swoop in and take advantage of that.
You are pathetic!
What am I supposed to do? I got no "hook" into her... all I got is this stupid house! Is converting back to Lutheran out of the question? Mom would definitely get mushy about that. She'd forget all about stupid ol' Jeff... maybe even Paul, too.
Yes, converting is out of the question! I am going to pray for you!
Pray that Jeff gets a flat tire and leaves my mother stranded at her church! That's what you need to pray for!
Despite all of my plans, Jeff made it to church on time. Get this, they were finished by 8:20... less than an hour! We were just getting warmed up by then. Jeff went to church with her and then had time alone with her.
I bet they talked about me! I bet they talked about me the whole time.
Well, Good Friday provides more opportunities for me to do something nice to make my mother cry!
As I re-read what I've written here so far... it sounds so awful.
You know, Cheryl might be on to something: I am kind of pathetic.
On this night, the night he was betrayed, Jesus gave humanity the gift of Himself... for all time... at the Last Supper. Yes, the Eucharist. Then the next day, in an act of love beyond our imagination, He took our sins to the cross and suffered the most dreadful of deaths for the benefit of all who would believe. He then conquered death and ascended into Heaven... and sits at the side of the Lord... and I treat this day as an opportunity to impress my mother.
I am sad!
Forget all of this... On Good Friday, I will go to church and say a Hail Mary or two, watch the Passion Play, and attend Stations of the Cross. I will offer all these things... as well as my prayers... up to the Lord, remembering in a special way my family, including my brothers and my mother.
After all, it is the right thing to do on this most holy of weekends.
Now... Let's see Jeff beat that!
Hope everyone has a Happy and Blessed Easter!
He has Risen! Alleluia! Alleluia!
It's Holy Week at the Palumbos'. It is only Holy Thursday and I am off to a bad start.
Before I tell you why, I want to remind everyone that several months ago, we renovated our home so that my mother could move in with us. We shortened our living room and made it into a bedroom... we expanded our powder room and created a full size bathroom with a walk-in shower... we turned our laundry room into a closet... and we moved our laundry room into our two car garage... rendering it useless as a two car garage.
Our house was upside down for about a month.
No problem... my mom is worth it.
She was lonely in her home after my dad passed away, and I had the perfect solution... a home with a wife and three kids that were there all the time. I told her that this was both the best and the worst part about our home... my wife and kids are there all the time!!!
But it is all good... Cheryl is a great caretaker and the boys could not be more helpful to their grandma. I chip in wherever I can, and I thought my mom was grateful... until today.
A little back story: my mother is Lutheran and we are Catholic... pretty close if you ask me. If you can get by the women pastors and a few other minor details, they are practically the same.
Author's note... that last line was for my lovely, life-long Catholic wife. She likes to remind me of the Eucharist whenever I say they are practically the same. She blames Martin Luther for the whole mix-up. Or as she says... "He is the one that did the leaving in the Fire Swamp." I love it when she seamlessly weaves in references to the Princess Bride in the middle our religion talks. Is it any wonder that I love her so much?
Anyway, because of our differing religions, there are times when we will drop my mother off at her church and proceed to our Mass. Today... Holy Thursday... was one of those days. Fortunately, both of our start times were 7:30, so that was no problem.
The problem was that our Catholic Mass was going to be a marathon with the procession of about eighty altar servers, the washing of the feet, robing of the new altar servers, and a full-blown adult choir that takes all the fifteen-second prayers and turns them into Stairway to Heaven. Then the Priest does the whole transubstantiation thing that my wife so adores, and BOOM... you're at two-and-a-half hours.
The Lutherans, on the other hand, get it done and get it done quickly, so she was going to be stranded for more than an hour.
What to do... What to do.
I went to the ball field with Matthew in the afternoon and when I returned, Cheryl told me that she had it all worked out. My brother Jeff volunteered to meet Mom at her church and attend that service alongside of her.
Great... I guess we can get her afterward from his house. Done.
Exactly... by the way, Cheryl unnecessarily whispered, when I told her that your brother was going to go to church with her, she was so touched... she cried!
What? She cried? She never cries for anything that I do for her. What an attention-seeking bum Jeff is! I would have dragged her rear end to church every now and again and stuck around had I known it was going to make her cry! I mean the services are kind of the same anyway!
They are not... and do I have to tell you why... again!
You know... I blame you for this riff between my mom and me. If you would just get over the Eucharist thing, we could hit the Lutheran church every now and again... and make my mother cry!
You are so sad.
Why would you say that? Paul is a Lutheran minister and Mom adores him... and now Jeff is trying to get his religious piece of the pie. Of course, I could use this to my advantage... let this little turf war between Paul and Jeff play out... and then swoop in and take advantage of that.
You are pathetic!
What am I supposed to do? I got no "hook" into her... all I got is this stupid house! Is converting back to Lutheran out of the question? Mom would definitely get mushy about that. She'd forget all about stupid ol' Jeff... maybe even Paul, too.
Yes, converting is out of the question! I am going to pray for you!
Pray that Jeff gets a flat tire and leaves my mother stranded at her church! That's what you need to pray for!
Despite all of my plans, Jeff made it to church on time. Get this, they were finished by 8:20... less than an hour! We were just getting warmed up by then. Jeff went to church with her and then had time alone with her.
I bet they talked about me! I bet they talked about me the whole time.
Well, Good Friday provides more opportunities for me to do something nice to make my mother cry!
As I re-read what I've written here so far... it sounds so awful.
You know, Cheryl might be on to something: I am kind of pathetic.
On this night, the night he was betrayed, Jesus gave humanity the gift of Himself... for all time... at the Last Supper. Yes, the Eucharist. Then the next day, in an act of love beyond our imagination, He took our sins to the cross and suffered the most dreadful of deaths for the benefit of all who would believe. He then conquered death and ascended into Heaven... and sits at the side of the Lord... and I treat this day as an opportunity to impress my mother.
I am sad!
Forget all of this... On Good Friday, I will go to church and say a Hail Mary or two, watch the Passion Play, and attend Stations of the Cross. I will offer all these things... as well as my prayers... up to the Lord, remembering in a special way my family, including my brothers and my mother.
After all, it is the right thing to do on this most holy of weekends.
Now... Let's see Jeff beat that!
Hope everyone has a Happy and Blessed Easter!
He has Risen! Alleluia! Alleluia!
Friday, March 27, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... Remembering the NICU...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Last week, my nephew and his wife had a little baby boy who entered the world weighing 6 lbs. 6 oz. The little guy had some respiratory issues, so he spent nearly a week in the NICU. During his stay, he lost some weight and was down to just over five-and-a-half pounds.
When Cheryl went to see him, she was amazed at how little he was. I reminded her that our daughter Grace wasn't even four-and-a-half pounds when she was born, and she, too, lost a couple of ounces before we brought her home.
Cheryl said that she could not remember her being that little. Maybe the eighteen years since has clouded her memory.
Well, let me tell you... I remember.
When Grace was born, I remember the look of concern on the doctor's face. I thought she looked small, but this was the first time that I had ever seen a baby right out of the shoot. They are born little, right?
They announced her weight and a fairly low Apgar score. The nurses were all moving pretty quickly... only adding to my confusion and concern.
Fortunately, the second Apgar score was higher, and the tension and urgency seemed to ease up a bit. As things settled, I remember the nurse telling me that Grace had long, slender, beautiful fingers and was someday going to be a pianist!
I wanted to punch him in the face. I may have misheard what the nurse said... but Cheryl quickly cleared it all up!
He said pianist, as in piano player.
Oh... pianist! That is not what I thought he said!
To be fair, after Grace was born, I had a lot going on. Cheryl was just lying there doing nothing and could afford to just sit and listen to what the nurse was saying.
Grace was originally sent to the regular nursery. Unbeknownst to us, she was transferred to the NICU in the middle of the night. I learned of this transfer after skipping down to the nursery to see Gracie... only to find that she was not there. I then hurried to the NICU and was told that I had to scrub up and put on a mask and gown.
I was the only person in a room full of babies that were no bigger than a little baby doll. We're talking one-and-a-half to three pound newborns. Grace was, by far, the biggest baby in the room. They all had tubes coming out of their arms or heads. They were all in little individual incubators and seemingly could only be touched through armholes. I left to call my office to tell them I would not be in to work. They asked if everything was okay, and I could not speak... I had no idea.
I have always said that the day Grace was born was the best and the worst day of my life.
When I went back to the NICU, I was greeted by a nurse named Cathy. I never remember anybody's name, but I remember Cathy. She explained that these babies would all survive but would probably be hospitalized for months. She let me know that they were all premature for one reason or another. She pointed out the DeVito twins who had to be delivered early.
As I got more comfortable with things, I told Cathy that I thought that Grace needed a diaper change. Cathy shot me a look and told me to change her myself. Because Grace was so tiny, I was afraid to touch her, but Cathy was having none of it.
I am not going home with you... so do it yourself!
The irritation in her voice convinced me that things were going to be okay.
I will always be thankful for Cathy. The last thing I said to her was to keep the DeVito boys away from my Gracie.
She assured me that she would.
Grace was in the NICU for eight days. Each day, Cheryl and I would go to the hospital thinking that we would be bringing her home. Each day we were disappointed. There was a very young doctor that kept finding "issues." We got very tired of hearing... maybe tomorrow!
On the eighth day... an older doctor told us to take her home. I asked him about her lungs, her heart, her size, and her hearing. When they had tested her hearing, they had told me that they could not get an appropriate response. To each of my questions, the doctor assured that she will be fine!
I asked him, How is it that the other doctor keeps saying keep her in the hospital and now you say take her home.
Because we have put her under a microscope... and when we do that to any baby, we will find problems.
What about that bleeding in the brain?
That is common in many vaginal births.
She was a C-section!
Oh, well... she will be fine! Take her home.
Can I take a heart monitor with us so if she stops breathing we will hear the beeping?
No.
What about her hearing?
Get her tested when you get her home... She will be fine... Take her home.
Uh, about her hearing... Poor Grace. For five days I tested her myself. I would sneak up behind her and clap and take note that she was easily startled. I was convinced she could hear and mentioned this fact to Cheryl... several times.
When we finally took Grace for her hearing test, they told us they could not do the test because she was awake. I commented that she had been awake when they tested her in the hospital.
It turns out that the baby has to be perfectly still and they are just seeing if the process works by sending a noise into the ear and seeing if there is a noise response that bounces back... an otoacoustic emission from the inner ear.
So stupid! My tests were better.
All of these memories came flooding back when I went to the hospital to see my nephew's baby... and I am here to report that this little guy is as cute as can be.
And get this, while I was there, I was able to save my nephew some money by running a few of my preliminary hearing tests.
The kid can hear. He is now home... and is going to be just fine!
Congratulations to Joseph, Jess, JP... and welcome to the family baby Cooper!
Remembering the days...
Last week, my nephew and his wife had a little baby boy who entered the world weighing 6 lbs. 6 oz. The little guy had some respiratory issues, so he spent nearly a week in the NICU. During his stay, he lost some weight and was down to just over five-and-a-half pounds.
When Cheryl went to see him, she was amazed at how little he was. I reminded her that our daughter Grace wasn't even four-and-a-half pounds when she was born, and she, too, lost a couple of ounces before we brought her home.
Cheryl said that she could not remember her being that little. Maybe the eighteen years since has clouded her memory.
Well, let me tell you... I remember.
When Grace was born, I remember the look of concern on the doctor's face. I thought she looked small, but this was the first time that I had ever seen a baby right out of the shoot. They are born little, right?
They announced her weight and a fairly low Apgar score. The nurses were all moving pretty quickly... only adding to my confusion and concern.
Fortunately, the second Apgar score was higher, and the tension and urgency seemed to ease up a bit. As things settled, I remember the nurse telling me that Grace had long, slender, beautiful fingers and was someday going to be a pianist!
I wanted to punch him in the face. I may have misheard what the nurse said... but Cheryl quickly cleared it all up!
He said pianist, as in piano player.
Oh... pianist! That is not what I thought he said!
To be fair, after Grace was born, I had a lot going on. Cheryl was just lying there doing nothing and could afford to just sit and listen to what the nurse was saying.
Grace was originally sent to the regular nursery. Unbeknownst to us, she was transferred to the NICU in the middle of the night. I learned of this transfer after skipping down to the nursery to see Gracie... only to find that she was not there. I then hurried to the NICU and was told that I had to scrub up and put on a mask and gown.
I was the only person in a room full of babies that were no bigger than a little baby doll. We're talking one-and-a-half to three pound newborns. Grace was, by far, the biggest baby in the room. They all had tubes coming out of their arms or heads. They were all in little individual incubators and seemingly could only be touched through armholes. I left to call my office to tell them I would not be in to work. They asked if everything was okay, and I could not speak... I had no idea.
I have always said that the day Grace was born was the best and the worst day of my life.
When I went back to the NICU, I was greeted by a nurse named Cathy. I never remember anybody's name, but I remember Cathy. She explained that these babies would all survive but would probably be hospitalized for months. She let me know that they were all premature for one reason or another. She pointed out the DeVito twins who had to be delivered early.
As I got more comfortable with things, I told Cathy that I thought that Grace needed a diaper change. Cathy shot me a look and told me to change her myself. Because Grace was so tiny, I was afraid to touch her, but Cathy was having none of it.
I am not going home with you... so do it yourself!
The irritation in her voice convinced me that things were going to be okay.
I will always be thankful for Cathy. The last thing I said to her was to keep the DeVito boys away from my Gracie.
She assured me that she would.
Grace was in the NICU for eight days. Each day, Cheryl and I would go to the hospital thinking that we would be bringing her home. Each day we were disappointed. There was a very young doctor that kept finding "issues." We got very tired of hearing... maybe tomorrow!
On the eighth day... an older doctor told us to take her home. I asked him about her lungs, her heart, her size, and her hearing. When they had tested her hearing, they had told me that they could not get an appropriate response. To each of my questions, the doctor assured that she will be fine!
I asked him, How is it that the other doctor keeps saying keep her in the hospital and now you say take her home.
Because we have put her under a microscope... and when we do that to any baby, we will find problems.
What about that bleeding in the brain?
That is common in many vaginal births.
She was a C-section!
Oh, well... she will be fine! Take her home.
Can I take a heart monitor with us so if she stops breathing we will hear the beeping?
No.
What about her hearing?
Get her tested when you get her home... She will be fine... Take her home.
Uh, about her hearing... Poor Grace. For five days I tested her myself. I would sneak up behind her and clap and take note that she was easily startled. I was convinced she could hear and mentioned this fact to Cheryl... several times.
When we finally took Grace for her hearing test, they told us they could not do the test because she was awake. I commented that she had been awake when they tested her in the hospital.
It turns out that the baby has to be perfectly still and they are just seeing if the process works by sending a noise into the ear and seeing if there is a noise response that bounces back... an otoacoustic emission from the inner ear.
So stupid! My tests were better.
All of these memories came flooding back when I went to the hospital to see my nephew's baby... and I am here to report that this little guy is as cute as can be.
And get this, while I was there, I was able to save my nephew some money by running a few of my preliminary hearing tests.
The kid can hear. He is now home... and is going to be just fine!
Congratulations to Joseph, Jess, JP... and welcome to the family baby Cooper!
Remembering the days...
 |
| Newborn Gracie in her isolette. |
 |
| Gracie and Dad. |
 |
| Mommy with her happy girl. |
 |
| Teeny-tiny on a standard-sized pillow. Not quite two weeks old. |
 |
| Two-and-a-half weeks old... Happy to be home. |
Friday, March 20, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... I'm attending what??
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Although my kids are similar in many ways, I often say that they are so different that you would think that they came from three different sets of parents. So it should come as no surprise that I have a brother that is similar to me in many ways, but we too have many differences. Perhaps the biggest difference would be in our political views.
I am a right-wing nut, and Paul is a left-wing kook.
Now, when we are together, we rarely discuss politics. In fact, he sent out a very nice letter to the family during the last presidential election explaining that everyone would have much less angst if they just focused on what they could control and try not to cast all politicians as either all good or all evil.
It was a nice letter... but he could afford to be nice. His guy was ahead in the polls!
Not surprisingly, Paul's children have similar political views as his. They occasionally post things on Facebook that I read... sort of like spying on the enemy. Not that I consider them enemies... I love them all in spite of their misguided view of the world! I rarely ever comment on these posts, other than the occasional late-night grumble to Cheryl as I read some article about "climate change."
Ah... climate change... the perfect explanation for everything. The 70's gave us the coming of another Ice Age... Al Gore's internet introduced us to global warming. Gee whiz... make up your minds. The world has been around since way before the '60's, and now, in the span of 50 years, we get two opposite weather theories predicting doom. Now we have climate change. Who can argue that the climate changes? The perfect explanation for anything!
I once made the mistake of commenting about one of my sister-in-law's posts... only to have some college kid advise me, "You just don't get it."
Oh, I get it alright, missy. I get it... and I get taxed for it!
But I digress...
Anyway, yesterday, I woke up and checked out Facebook. One of Paul's daughters attends college and posted that she was going to attend an event! I looked at the picture attached and it had a Pennsylvania license plate which read... SEX DOC. The lecture was entitled, The Politics of Sexual Oppression.
I just had to see what this was all about.
I clicked on the page, but it only expanded the page that I was already on. Then I did what I always do when my iPad doesn't respond... I started hitting everything on the page in hopes of getting what I wanted. Nothing happened... except that I noticed that my name appeared at the top of the page alongside of my niece's name. Oh well, I guess I never will know what The Politics of Sexual Oppression is all about.
As I moved on, I began to wonder, why is my name up there with hers? Well, it appears that one of the buttons that I hit advised the organizers of the lecture that I would be attending. Turns out that I will know what the Politics of Sexual Oppression is after all!
Once again, I panicked.
Cheryl, what do I do?
About what?
The Politics of Sexual Oppression. A lecture that I am attending!
Is there something you want to tell me?
I hit the wrong button... now I have to go.
Un-invite yourself!
Can you do that?
You can try.
I have never sexually oppressed anybody! This is bad!
I went back and hit the "Will Attend" button again... you know... to un-attend. I figured, That ought to undo it all! I jumped in the shower, confident that my little faux-pas would go unnoticed by all my friends... and family.
My confidence was short-lived.
On my drive in to work, I received a text from Gracie... Did you mean to go to this? with a picture of the Sexual Oppression page attached.
Now my daughter thinks I am an oppressor. Worse, she thinks that I am going to this stupid lecture. Disaster. Who else has seen this?
Then Grace followed up with... Can I go into your Facebook page and uninvite yourself?
I thought I already did! Please do!
I hate Facebook!
Turns out that Facebook was created by some guy named Zuckerburg. Zuckerburg is a liberal sympathizer that supports all kinds of liberal issues like immigration reform. He is a bad, bad man.
It is troublesome to me that a guy with these types of political beliefs carries so much control over our social media. This causes me great angst!
What's that? He also funded groups that opposed Obamacare and supported the Keystone Pipeline? He is a good, good man.
A guy like that can be trusted. And he probably drives my brother's family crazy!
It turns out that my brother might be right. There is probably some good and some bad in all of our politicians.
Except the sexual oppressors... those guys are all bad!
Although my kids are similar in many ways, I often say that they are so different that you would think that they came from three different sets of parents. So it should come as no surprise that I have a brother that is similar to me in many ways, but we too have many differences. Perhaps the biggest difference would be in our political views.
I am a right-wing nut, and Paul is a left-wing kook.
Now, when we are together, we rarely discuss politics. In fact, he sent out a very nice letter to the family during the last presidential election explaining that everyone would have much less angst if they just focused on what they could control and try not to cast all politicians as either all good or all evil.
It was a nice letter... but he could afford to be nice. His guy was ahead in the polls!
Not surprisingly, Paul's children have similar political views as his. They occasionally post things on Facebook that I read... sort of like spying on the enemy. Not that I consider them enemies... I love them all in spite of their misguided view of the world! I rarely ever comment on these posts, other than the occasional late-night grumble to Cheryl as I read some article about "climate change."
Ah... climate change... the perfect explanation for everything. The 70's gave us the coming of another Ice Age... Al Gore's internet introduced us to global warming. Gee whiz... make up your minds. The world has been around since way before the '60's, and now, in the span of 50 years, we get two opposite weather theories predicting doom. Now we have climate change. Who can argue that the climate changes? The perfect explanation for anything!
I once made the mistake of commenting about one of my sister-in-law's posts... only to have some college kid advise me, "You just don't get it."
Oh, I get it alright, missy. I get it... and I get taxed for it!
But I digress...
Anyway, yesterday, I woke up and checked out Facebook. One of Paul's daughters attends college and posted that she was going to attend an event! I looked at the picture attached and it had a Pennsylvania license plate which read... SEX DOC. The lecture was entitled, The Politics of Sexual Oppression.
I just had to see what this was all about.
I clicked on the page, but it only expanded the page that I was already on. Then I did what I always do when my iPad doesn't respond... I started hitting everything on the page in hopes of getting what I wanted. Nothing happened... except that I noticed that my name appeared at the top of the page alongside of my niece's name. Oh well, I guess I never will know what The Politics of Sexual Oppression is all about.
As I moved on, I began to wonder, why is my name up there with hers? Well, it appears that one of the buttons that I hit advised the organizers of the lecture that I would be attending. Turns out that I will know what the Politics of Sexual Oppression is after all!
Once again, I panicked.
Cheryl, what do I do?
About what?
The Politics of Sexual Oppression. A lecture that I am attending!
Is there something you want to tell me?
I hit the wrong button... now I have to go.
Un-invite yourself!
Can you do that?
You can try.
I have never sexually oppressed anybody! This is bad!
I went back and hit the "Will Attend" button again... you know... to un-attend. I figured, That ought to undo it all! I jumped in the shower, confident that my little faux-pas would go unnoticed by all my friends... and family.
My confidence was short-lived.
On my drive in to work, I received a text from Gracie... Did you mean to go to this? with a picture of the Sexual Oppression page attached.
Now my daughter thinks I am an oppressor. Worse, she thinks that I am going to this stupid lecture. Disaster. Who else has seen this?
Then Grace followed up with... Can I go into your Facebook page and uninvite yourself?
I thought I already did! Please do!
I hate Facebook!
Turns out that Facebook was created by some guy named Zuckerburg. Zuckerburg is a liberal sympathizer that supports all kinds of liberal issues like immigration reform. He is a bad, bad man.
It is troublesome to me that a guy with these types of political beliefs carries so much control over our social media. This causes me great angst!
What's that? He also funded groups that opposed Obamacare and supported the Keystone Pipeline? He is a good, good man.
A guy like that can be trusted. And he probably drives my brother's family crazy!
It turns out that my brother might be right. There is probably some good and some bad in all of our politicians.
Except the sexual oppressors... those guys are all bad!
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... One ringy dingy... two ringy dingy...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
We were sitting in the pew... glued to every word the priest had to offer. Well, not every word because my mind tends to wander... what... with baseball season getting started and teams to be selected and little baseball hearts to break.
Anyway, in the midst of the homily, Father Lewis was speaking about the Eucharist and the necessity of important things that set us... as a people, and as a Church... apart. The Eucharist is not something that you should take for granted, and you wouldn't just give it away.
He then asked us all to think of something special... more specifically, he asked the married couples to think of something that they have on... at this very moment, something that you are wearing right now... that you would never just give away.
I looked at Cheryl and she looked lovingly at me and told me...
I really do love these earrings! I would never give these earrings away!
Father Lewis then answered his own question... your wedding ring! You would never just give away your wedding ring!
Of course, the priest was talking about our wedding rings... The ring is a wonderful symbol of love placed on the finger that leads directly to our hearts, and shaped like a circle because the ring, like our love, has no end.
Since the day we got married, I have never, not once, ever considered removing my wedding ring from my finger!
Well, that is not exactly true.
There was this time on our honeymoon, when I was swimming in the beautiful crystal blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. I was fooling around with my ring and tossed it to Cheryl, figuring that even if it dropped, I could easily find it. I mean, the Caribbean has the clearest water in the world. It also has this stuff called sand at the bottom of it. I mean, the water is so clear that you can see right down to the sand as you swim around... you really can't miss the stuff. Anyway, this sand stuff just gobbled that ring right up.
Four hours of searching and it was never to be found. One week into our marriage and I had lost my ring. Cheryl was so upset that I called the jeweler from Saint Barth's and ordered a new ring with the exact same inscription... Share My Life 4/25/92.
The new ring cost me a hundred dollars, and the phone call from Saint Barth's cost me eighty. Oh well... it made my new bride happy.
She remained happy, right up until a couple of years later when I was sitting on a deck at a local restaurant overlooking the South River. I was out with people from work and was waiting for our waitress. I was bored. So I did what I always do when I am bored... I took off my wedding ring and spun it on the table, attempting to stop it by putting my thumb and my pointer finger inside the ring. I am sure you know what I am talking about... everybody does it. Right? I mean... everybody does do this... Right?
Well, I am pretty good at this little game. Except on this particular day. The ring hit off my finger and twirled to my thigh... it bounced off of my thigh and onto my chair... it then bounced off my chair... hit one of the two-by-six deck boards at my feet... bounced up in the air and twirled around a time or two... and then fell right between two more deck boards... right into the South River.
And get this, it did it all in slow motion with my reaching and grabbing for it at every stage of the plunge.
I ordered a third ring. This time, the jeweler said... Same inscription? Share My Life 4/25/92?
Yes, how do you remember that?
I usually don't make three of them!
Ouch!
Okay, this third one... I have never, not once ever considered removing this third one... except when I play basketball. I mean, I don't want to get my finger caught up in the rim when I dunk! I mean, I could cut my hand up and possibly lose a finger that way!
For those of you that just spit out your coffee at the thought of me dunking... Just know that I hate you!
After Mass, as we walked out to the car, I confronted Cheryl about her earring comment. She immediately turned and said she was kidding... that she knew the whole time he was talking about our wedding rings... I mean, what else could he have been talking about! You couldn't possibly think that I was serious?
Yes I could, I said sheepishly in the best little kid voice that I could muster.
Of course, I knew he meant our rings. Seriously, what else could it have been. I was just teasing you and as usual... you are like a mouse to my cat!
I must admit that I felt pretty silly about the whole thing. Not because I mistakenly thought that Cheryl felt more of a connection to her earrings than to her wedding ring.
No, I felt bad because when Father Lewis asked us to think of something that we were wearing, something that we cherish, something that we would never consider just giving away, the only thing that I could come up with was... my new shoes.
But to be fair, they are a sweet pair of chestnut brown loafers that fit... and feel... like a comfy pair of slippers.
And don't forget, baseball season is approaching... and I have teams to select... and little baseball hearts to break... and my mind tends to wander!
We were sitting in the pew... glued to every word the priest had to offer. Well, not every word because my mind tends to wander... what... with baseball season getting started and teams to be selected and little baseball hearts to break.
Anyway, in the midst of the homily, Father Lewis was speaking about the Eucharist and the necessity of important things that set us... as a people, and as a Church... apart. The Eucharist is not something that you should take for granted, and you wouldn't just give it away.
He then asked us all to think of something special... more specifically, he asked the married couples to think of something that they have on... at this very moment, something that you are wearing right now... that you would never just give away.
I looked at Cheryl and she looked lovingly at me and told me...
I really do love these earrings! I would never give these earrings away!
Father Lewis then answered his own question... your wedding ring! You would never just give away your wedding ring!
Of course, the priest was talking about our wedding rings... The ring is a wonderful symbol of love placed on the finger that leads directly to our hearts, and shaped like a circle because the ring, like our love, has no end.
Since the day we got married, I have never, not once, ever considered removing my wedding ring from my finger!
Well, that is not exactly true.
There was this time on our honeymoon, when I was swimming in the beautiful crystal blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. I was fooling around with my ring and tossed it to Cheryl, figuring that even if it dropped, I could easily find it. I mean, the Caribbean has the clearest water in the world. It also has this stuff called sand at the bottom of it. I mean, the water is so clear that you can see right down to the sand as you swim around... you really can't miss the stuff. Anyway, this sand stuff just gobbled that ring right up.
Four hours of searching and it was never to be found. One week into our marriage and I had lost my ring. Cheryl was so upset that I called the jeweler from Saint Barth's and ordered a new ring with the exact same inscription... Share My Life 4/25/92.
The new ring cost me a hundred dollars, and the phone call from Saint Barth's cost me eighty. Oh well... it made my new bride happy.
She remained happy, right up until a couple of years later when I was sitting on a deck at a local restaurant overlooking the South River. I was out with people from work and was waiting for our waitress. I was bored. So I did what I always do when I am bored... I took off my wedding ring and spun it on the table, attempting to stop it by putting my thumb and my pointer finger inside the ring. I am sure you know what I am talking about... everybody does it. Right? I mean... everybody does do this... Right?
Well, I am pretty good at this little game. Except on this particular day. The ring hit off my finger and twirled to my thigh... it bounced off of my thigh and onto my chair... it then bounced off my chair... hit one of the two-by-six deck boards at my feet... bounced up in the air and twirled around a time or two... and then fell right between two more deck boards... right into the South River.
And get this, it did it all in slow motion with my reaching and grabbing for it at every stage of the plunge.
I ordered a third ring. This time, the jeweler said... Same inscription? Share My Life 4/25/92?
Yes, how do you remember that?
I usually don't make three of them!
Ouch!
Okay, this third one... I have never, not once ever considered removing this third one... except when I play basketball. I mean, I don't want to get my finger caught up in the rim when I dunk! I mean, I could cut my hand up and possibly lose a finger that way!
For those of you that just spit out your coffee at the thought of me dunking... Just know that I hate you!
After Mass, as we walked out to the car, I confronted Cheryl about her earring comment. She immediately turned and said she was kidding... that she knew the whole time he was talking about our wedding rings... I mean, what else could he have been talking about! You couldn't possibly think that I was serious?
Yes I could, I said sheepishly in the best little kid voice that I could muster.
Of course, I knew he meant our rings. Seriously, what else could it have been. I was just teasing you and as usual... you are like a mouse to my cat!
I must admit that I felt pretty silly about the whole thing. Not because I mistakenly thought that Cheryl felt more of a connection to her earrings than to her wedding ring.
No, I felt bad because when Father Lewis asked us to think of something that we were wearing, something that we cherish, something that we would never consider just giving away, the only thing that I could come up with was... my new shoes.
But to be fair, they are a sweet pair of chestnut brown loafers that fit... and feel... like a comfy pair of slippers.
And don't forget, baseball season is approaching... and I have teams to select... and little baseball hearts to break... and my mind tends to wander!
Friday, March 6, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... What about me?
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
What a week.
Noah and Matthew had the flu. Both got hit hard. Fevers over 100 degrees for several days, bleary eyes, lethargy, fatigue, and coughs to beat the band. Both boys stayed in bed for most of the days and rarely came downstairs.
But this isn't about them, it is about me.
When Matthew gets sick, it is kind of a boon to me. I don't have to run up to his school to pick him up. I don't have to take him to his practices. And I don't have to escort him to his various social activities. You might even say that my life gets a lot easier when Matthew gets sick.
But Noah, he is a different animal. I don't want to sound selfish or anything, but I haven't eaten a decent meal since the little guy went down.
Noah took an interest in cooking about a year ago. He started out trying different recipes here and there, but now he makes dinner four or five nights a week. Not just your everyday ordinary meal, but foods like manicotti, lasagna, bang bang coconut shrimp, twice-baked potatoes, chicken cacciatore, scallops with buerre blanc sauce (I don't even know what that is... but it is good), spaghetti and meatballs, chili, roasts, steaks... and his pork dish with sauerkraut and beer with dumplings? It's to die for.
Did I mention his desserts? Apple Pie, Apple Crostata, Baklava, Tiramisu... and he can whip up a mean milkshake on a moment's notice.
But there he was... sick... each day... taking his temperature, coughing, wheezing and sleeping while I was going hungry. Cheryl was running up and down the steps and seeing what Noah needed! (For full effect, say that last line in an overprotective, nasally kind of voice).
I love my wife and everything, but there are times when she only thinks about herself.
What about me?
Who is making my dinner? I typically forgo breakfast, and since Lent started, I only eat soup or salads for lunch. Dinner has become more important to me now than at any other point in my life. Coming home and seeing what Noah is making for dinner is like Christmas morning every evening. Sometimes it is like getting a new bike... sometimes it is like getting a frisbee... and sometimes it is like getting new clothes... But it's always delicious!!!
But not this week.
No... this week I got Wendy's burgers, Chinese food, and Ledo's pizza. That food is good, but is not Christmas morning... that food is like Columbus Day. You know, it is kind of nice to have the day off, but it doesn't really mean anything.
And it is not as if Cheryl can't cook. It's just that... how can I say this without offending her?... Noah is better. And he enjoys doing it so much more than she. He loves the whole process of preparing and presenting his meals.
Both yummy and aesthetically pleasing! What else could you ask for?
I know... a kid/chef who isn't sick.
Things started to break my way on Tuesday when, after a weeklong fever, Noah's temperature finally fell below 100 degrees. I argued that this constituted a full recovery, insisting that he could ease back into things with some French toast. Cheryl, of course, continued to rain on my little bit of sunshine and insisted that he was still sick and still has a terrible cough! If he makes you dinner, you might get sick.
That is a risk I am willing to take. Besides, he lies on my side of the bed... on my pillows... for seven days straight... and you never bat an eye... and now you are concerned that I might catch his cold? You Madam are jealous!
You, sir... are a total goofball! The boy is sick, and he is staying put... on your side of the bed... coughing on your pillows!
I thought to myself... when did she get a nursing degree? And am I ever going to get a Noah-cooked meal again?
Wednesday, Noah was back to his old self with only a lingering cough. It was a cough that I could live with. Unfortunately, Cheryl had gone out for the afternoon, and there was a possibility that we were going to meet her out for dinner... so no food was prepared.
Cheryl thought better of everyone going out to eat, so instead, brought home... you guessed it... Wendy's.
After dinner, Noah pulled out a recipe for chicken pot pie. The planets were starting to re-align... and nothing was going to stop me... er... uh... I mean, Noah. Except... at 9:30, right before bedtime, I was advised that we were out of chicken.
Not wanting to disappoint the lad, I made a late night trek out to the grocery store and saved the day. You know, as I write this, I think that Cheryl could learn a little bit about giving of herself by the example that I set.
I am happy to report that the very next day we polished off a delicious chicken pot pie with the chicken that I purchased... made with Noah's signature homemade pie crust.
All is good in the world... except that Matthew is feeling better too. Not that Matthew feeling better is a bad thing... I suppose. It is just that this isn't about Matthew... it is about me. And now that Matthew is feeling better, I have to start chauffeuring him all around town again.
Oh well, God opens one door and he shuts another. At least I will be driving Matthew around on a full stomach.
Life is good!
What a week.
Noah and Matthew had the flu. Both got hit hard. Fevers over 100 degrees for several days, bleary eyes, lethargy, fatigue, and coughs to beat the band. Both boys stayed in bed for most of the days and rarely came downstairs.
But this isn't about them, it is about me.
When Matthew gets sick, it is kind of a boon to me. I don't have to run up to his school to pick him up. I don't have to take him to his practices. And I don't have to escort him to his various social activities. You might even say that my life gets a lot easier when Matthew gets sick.
But Noah, he is a different animal. I don't want to sound selfish or anything, but I haven't eaten a decent meal since the little guy went down.
Noah took an interest in cooking about a year ago. He started out trying different recipes here and there, but now he makes dinner four or five nights a week. Not just your everyday ordinary meal, but foods like manicotti, lasagna, bang bang coconut shrimp, twice-baked potatoes, chicken cacciatore, scallops with buerre blanc sauce (I don't even know what that is... but it is good), spaghetti and meatballs, chili, roasts, steaks... and his pork dish with sauerkraut and beer with dumplings? It's to die for.
Did I mention his desserts? Apple Pie, Apple Crostata, Baklava, Tiramisu... and he can whip up a mean milkshake on a moment's notice.
But there he was... sick... each day... taking his temperature, coughing, wheezing and sleeping while I was going hungry. Cheryl was running up and down the steps and seeing what Noah needed! (For full effect, say that last line in an overprotective, nasally kind of voice).
I love my wife and everything, but there are times when she only thinks about herself.
What about me?
Who is making my dinner? I typically forgo breakfast, and since Lent started, I only eat soup or salads for lunch. Dinner has become more important to me now than at any other point in my life. Coming home and seeing what Noah is making for dinner is like Christmas morning every evening. Sometimes it is like getting a new bike... sometimes it is like getting a frisbee... and sometimes it is like getting new clothes... But it's always delicious!!!
But not this week.
No... this week I got Wendy's burgers, Chinese food, and Ledo's pizza. That food is good, but is not Christmas morning... that food is like Columbus Day. You know, it is kind of nice to have the day off, but it doesn't really mean anything.
And it is not as if Cheryl can't cook. It's just that... how can I say this without offending her?... Noah is better. And he enjoys doing it so much more than she. He loves the whole process of preparing and presenting his meals.
Both yummy and aesthetically pleasing! What else could you ask for?
I know... a kid/chef who isn't sick.
Things started to break my way on Tuesday when, after a weeklong fever, Noah's temperature finally fell below 100 degrees. I argued that this constituted a full recovery, insisting that he could ease back into things with some French toast. Cheryl, of course, continued to rain on my little bit of sunshine and insisted that he was still sick and still has a terrible cough! If he makes you dinner, you might get sick.
That is a risk I am willing to take. Besides, he lies on my side of the bed... on my pillows... for seven days straight... and you never bat an eye... and now you are concerned that I might catch his cold? You Madam are jealous!
You, sir... are a total goofball! The boy is sick, and he is staying put... on your side of the bed... coughing on your pillows!
I thought to myself... when did she get a nursing degree? And am I ever going to get a Noah-cooked meal again?
Wednesday, Noah was back to his old self with only a lingering cough. It was a cough that I could live with. Unfortunately, Cheryl had gone out for the afternoon, and there was a possibility that we were going to meet her out for dinner... so no food was prepared.
Cheryl thought better of everyone going out to eat, so instead, brought home... you guessed it... Wendy's.
After dinner, Noah pulled out a recipe for chicken pot pie. The planets were starting to re-align... and nothing was going to stop me... er... uh... I mean, Noah. Except... at 9:30, right before bedtime, I was advised that we were out of chicken.
Not wanting to disappoint the lad, I made a late night trek out to the grocery store and saved the day. You know, as I write this, I think that Cheryl could learn a little bit about giving of herself by the example that I set.
I am happy to report that the very next day we polished off a delicious chicken pot pie with the chicken that I purchased... made with Noah's signature homemade pie crust.
All is good in the world... except that Matthew is feeling better too. Not that Matthew feeling better is a bad thing... I suppose. It is just that this isn't about Matthew... it is about me. And now that Matthew is feeling better, I have to start chauffeuring him all around town again.
Oh well, God opens one door and he shuts another. At least I will be driving Matthew around on a full stomach.
Life is good!
Friday, February 27, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... The boyfriend...
Funny Guy Friday is written by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy... who happens to reeaallly love our daughter Grace...
Well, it happened. The day I had been dreading for the last eighteen years. It happened... and it was awful. I hated it!
Grace called us from college about a week ago and wanted to come home for a day or two. This, in and of itself, seemed odd because she likes college, and it seems to me that she only comes home when she has to... or if there's too much drama.
When Cheryl mentioned that she was going to go pick up Grace, I immediately asked... What's wrong?
Nothing... she just wants to come home.
Why?
Well it's Valentine's Day... and maybe she just wants to escape the drama.
This was good news... for me!
I had heard rumors that she was dating a young man, but I had never gotten any solid verification of such a relationship.
In fact, just the opposite.
Over Christmas break, Grace had been home for four weeks, and I never saw the so-called boyfriend around the house... despite the fact that he allegedly traveled right through Maryland on his way from Pennsylvania to North Carolina. Additionally, I never saw Grace actually talking... in a real conversation... with words and such... to this guy during that entire Christmas break. Admittedly, there was quite a bit of texting, but who uses texts as the sole mode of communication these days? And she could have been texting anyone. And she never asked to head off to his hometown to see him.
After the break, when I drove Grace back to school, she refused to let him know that I was there, so I never saw the guy. I had begun to think that he was made up! Cheryl claimed to have met him, but as far as I could tell... she was just covering up for our poor, pitiful, imaginative daughter.
At this point, I started calling him Remington Steele.
A few days later, our little Laura Holt... er... um... I mean... Gracie... upped her little ruse by changing her facebook status to read... "In a Relationship."
Can I digress for a minute? Do we really need to let seven hundred of our facebook "friends" know when or if we are dating someone? Do people actually troll facebook for dates and cross off those "friends" who have declared themselves to be "in a relationship?" Just another stupid social media thing that I don't understand!
So, why did I say Grace's visit home during Valentine's Day was good for me? Because she was finally throwing in the towel on the make-believe boyfriend and coming home to see me... the one and only true love in her life.
I mentioned all of this to Cheryl, who then pointed out that Grace was bringing ol' Remington home with her.
Who?
Brian, the boyfriend!
Who?
Brian, the boy she is dating.
So, he is for real?
Yes. She told you. Cheryl tells me I never listen.
I tried to cover: Right. Where, did you say, he is coming?
Here... to our house... for the weekend.
When?
This weekend.
Is this for real? He is coming here? This weekend?
Yes, honey. Do you need to sit down?
So... this kid shows up at my house... and after meeting him for one weekend, here is my scouting report.
Kind of quiet. I like that.
Not totally into sports, but he does snowboard. That's a plus.
As an aside, I should have known something was up when Grace wanted ski boots for Christmas. Grace never liked skiing when she was younger. In fact, several years ago, we bought her boots and skis for Christmas only to have her return them. Hmm... Remember who snowboards? Brian!
Okay... back to my report... He was home-schooled. That's no guarantee. I've known too many home-schoolers.
He is a Catholic who goes to church regularly. Big kudos from Cheryl!
He pokes fun at Grace. Bigger kudos from Gracie's brothers.
He is in the ROTC program at school, which explains why Gracie has requested that we wake her at 0-800 hours.
He is an EMT and can differentiate between the sound of a police siren and an ambulance siren. Not really sure what to make of that special skill, but it is nice to know if I keel over from a heart attack, somebody will know what to do.
Although politics never came up, I am told he is politically conservative. I will reserve passing judgment on this topic until we discuss Ronald Reagan.
But, at least, for now... he's alright. I did not hate him like I should hate the boy my daughter brings home from college. I hate the thought of him, but personally... he's okay.
I'll give him a B-... which is a pretty impressive grade because I fully expected him to fail... miserably!
To be fair to the poor kid, in order to get an A, Brian would have had to be a Catholic, conservative Derek Jeter... so he should be feeling pretty good about my grade.
And you know what... if he has the right opinion of the Reagan presidency, he could even move up to a solid B.
Well, it happened. The day I had been dreading for the last eighteen years. It happened... and it was awful. I hated it!
Grace called us from college about a week ago and wanted to come home for a day or two. This, in and of itself, seemed odd because she likes college, and it seems to me that she only comes home when she has to... or if there's too much drama.
When Cheryl mentioned that she was going to go pick up Grace, I immediately asked... What's wrong?
Nothing... she just wants to come home.
Why?
Well it's Valentine's Day... and maybe she just wants to escape the drama.
This was good news... for me!
I had heard rumors that she was dating a young man, but I had never gotten any solid verification of such a relationship.
In fact, just the opposite.
Over Christmas break, Grace had been home for four weeks, and I never saw the so-called boyfriend around the house... despite the fact that he allegedly traveled right through Maryland on his way from Pennsylvania to North Carolina. Additionally, I never saw Grace actually talking... in a real conversation... with words and such... to this guy during that entire Christmas break. Admittedly, there was quite a bit of texting, but who uses texts as the sole mode of communication these days? And she could have been texting anyone. And she never asked to head off to his hometown to see him.
After the break, when I drove Grace back to school, she refused to let him know that I was there, so I never saw the guy. I had begun to think that he was made up! Cheryl claimed to have met him, but as far as I could tell... she was just covering up for our poor, pitiful, imaginative daughter.
At this point, I started calling him Remington Steele.
A few days later, our little Laura Holt... er... um... I mean... Gracie... upped her little ruse by changing her facebook status to read... "In a Relationship."
Can I digress for a minute? Do we really need to let seven hundred of our facebook "friends" know when or if we are dating someone? Do people actually troll facebook for dates and cross off those "friends" who have declared themselves to be "in a relationship?" Just another stupid social media thing that I don't understand!
So, why did I say Grace's visit home during Valentine's Day was good for me? Because she was finally throwing in the towel on the make-believe boyfriend and coming home to see me... the one and only true love in her life.
I mentioned all of this to Cheryl, who then pointed out that Grace was bringing ol' Remington home with her.
Who?
Brian, the boyfriend!
Who?
Brian, the boy she is dating.
So, he is for real?
Yes. She told you. Cheryl tells me I never listen.
I tried to cover: Right. Where, did you say, he is coming?
Here... to our house... for the weekend.
When?
This weekend.
Is this for real? He is coming here? This weekend?
Yes, honey. Do you need to sit down?
So... this kid shows up at my house... and after meeting him for one weekend, here is my scouting report.
Kind of quiet. I like that.
Not totally into sports, but he does snowboard. That's a plus.
As an aside, I should have known something was up when Grace wanted ski boots for Christmas. Grace never liked skiing when she was younger. In fact, several years ago, we bought her boots and skis for Christmas only to have her return them. Hmm... Remember who snowboards? Brian!
Okay... back to my report... He was home-schooled. That's no guarantee. I've known too many home-schoolers.
He is a Catholic who goes to church regularly. Big kudos from Cheryl!
He pokes fun at Grace. Bigger kudos from Gracie's brothers.
He is in the ROTC program at school, which explains why Gracie has requested that we wake her at 0-800 hours.
He is an EMT and can differentiate between the sound of a police siren and an ambulance siren. Not really sure what to make of that special skill, but it is nice to know if I keel over from a heart attack, somebody will know what to do.
Although politics never came up, I am told he is politically conservative. I will reserve passing judgment on this topic until we discuss Ronald Reagan.
But, at least, for now... he's alright. I did not hate him like I should hate the boy my daughter brings home from college. I hate the thought of him, but personally... he's okay.
I'll give him a B-... which is a pretty impressive grade because I fully expected him to fail... miserably!
To be fair to the poor kid, in order to get an A, Brian would have had to be a Catholic, conservative Derek Jeter... so he should be feeling pretty good about my grade.
And you know what... if he has the right opinion of the Reagan presidency, he could even move up to a solid B.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... Lent begins...
"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."
It is that time of year: the Lenten season.
It all starts with Ash Wednesday when all good... and some not so good... Catholics get ashes spread on their forehead. This marks the first of forty days of sacrifice.
This Ash Wednesday, I received a call in my office from a good friend, who happens to be a judge, asking if I wanted to join him and his secretary at the local noon Mass.
I enjoy both of them and thought it would be a good idea to knock out Mass early in the day. The only down side of going to early Mass is that you walk around all day with a black smudge across your forehead. No problem, I wear it like a badge of honor.
On the way to church, I put Cheryl on speaker to give her a heads up about our plans, and at the end of the conversation she asked that we pray for her. As I hung up, the judge asked... Does she want you to say her prayers for her? or say a prayer for her soul?
What? I was a bit confused.
Again, he wondered aloud: Does she want you to say the prayers that she usually says so now she does not have to say them? or to say a prayer for her so that she goes to heaven or something?
Pray for her soul, I tried to assure.
Are you sure?
I can call her back if you wish so we can get an official ruling.
The clever banter was just getting started.
We got to the church very early and took our spots in the pew. His secretary asked what I was giving up for Lent. I don't typically give up something but try to do something to improve my life. I explained that I was going to take each day of Lent and start cleaning out junk in each room in the house. Get rid of what I don't use and donate stuff to those in need. Forty bags in forty days, if you will.
You have to give up something, the judge interjected.
You don't have to give up something, I insisted. You can do something to improve your life and bring you closer to God... I will say a prayer while I clean. But... just so you know... I have given up stuff before... I gave up sodas three years ago and have never gone back. I don't drink coffee, so that was the only caffeine that I had ever had.
So what are you giving up? he asked again.
I got an idea... I suggested... why don't we pick something for all of us to give up... like chocolate and coffee.
You don't drink coffee and you don't like chocolate, said my friend.
True... but I will be cleaning out my closets and you won't be.
Well, I do like the idea... I could give up coffee and desserts.
That will be tough because you are going to miss the caffeine, I insisted.
No, I won't... he assured... caffeine does not affect me.
How do you know?
I never used to drink coffee... and it never bothered me not to have the caffeine.
That is because you never had the caffeine... but now you have so you are going to get headaches and get tired when you quit cold turkey.
No I won't, he persisted.
That is like a heroine addict saying that the heroine that he never did... did not affect him.
It is nothing like that, he said, starting to get a little testy. You know what?... I am going to give coffee up for the Lord but also just to prove that you are wrong.
By the way, I added, you can't just substitute some other form of caffeine, or it's no good.
Not good for you or for God?
Neither. I could see he was starting to hedge his bets.
He followed up: I also need a ruling on the desserts... what if I eat a donut in the morning. That is not really dessert.
I would agree with that.
What about apple pie in the middle of the day?
So your dilemma is... if you eat a dessert-like food but not for dessert, does that count as a dessert?
What if we just say you will give up sweets?
No... I am not giving up coffee and sweets. Coffee and dessert, he insisted.
I will give you the donut... but not the apple pie. That's fair.
Agreed. If he'd have had his gavel, he might just have hit the pew with it.
Hmm... I wondered what the elderly lady in front of us was thinking about our interpretation of sacrifice!
So with that settled, we listened to a great homily about what we as families and as individuals can do during the Lenten season to bring us closer to the Lord. We got our ashes, took Communion, and went back to work.
I won't bore you with the banter about the Latin singer. She wasn't Latino, but she sang a song in Latin.
I had an appointment later that afternoon, and before it began, I looked in the mirror and saw the ashes on my forehead. I had forgotten about them and wondered if my client might be a little taken aback. As I entered the conference room, I decided to put him at ease, so I commented that I had just seen the ashes on my forehead in the bathroom mirror and remembered that I had received them earlier in the day.
My client looked at me and said, Yeah, it has been so cold... everyone is using their fireplaces and stuff!
My client thought that I had just gotten ashes on my forehead from handling wood in a fireplace. I started to explain about Ash Wednesday but thought better of it. I had had enough clever conversations for one day and besides that... I wanted to get a jump on getting home early. I only have forty days to get all my closets cleaned!
I hope you all have a great Lenten season.
It is that time of year: the Lenten season.
It all starts with Ash Wednesday when all good... and some not so good... Catholics get ashes spread on their forehead. This marks the first of forty days of sacrifice.
This Ash Wednesday, I received a call in my office from a good friend, who happens to be a judge, asking if I wanted to join him and his secretary at the local noon Mass.
I enjoy both of them and thought it would be a good idea to knock out Mass early in the day. The only down side of going to early Mass is that you walk around all day with a black smudge across your forehead. No problem, I wear it like a badge of honor.
On the way to church, I put Cheryl on speaker to give her a heads up about our plans, and at the end of the conversation she asked that we pray for her. As I hung up, the judge asked... Does she want you to say her prayers for her? or say a prayer for her soul?
What? I was a bit confused.
Again, he wondered aloud: Does she want you to say the prayers that she usually says so now she does not have to say them? or to say a prayer for her so that she goes to heaven or something?
Pray for her soul, I tried to assure.
Are you sure?
I can call her back if you wish so we can get an official ruling.
The clever banter was just getting started.
We got to the church very early and took our spots in the pew. His secretary asked what I was giving up for Lent. I don't typically give up something but try to do something to improve my life. I explained that I was going to take each day of Lent and start cleaning out junk in each room in the house. Get rid of what I don't use and donate stuff to those in need. Forty bags in forty days, if you will.
You have to give up something, the judge interjected.
You don't have to give up something, I insisted. You can do something to improve your life and bring you closer to God... I will say a prayer while I clean. But... just so you know... I have given up stuff before... I gave up sodas three years ago and have never gone back. I don't drink coffee, so that was the only caffeine that I had ever had.
So what are you giving up? he asked again.
I got an idea... I suggested... why don't we pick something for all of us to give up... like chocolate and coffee.
You don't drink coffee and you don't like chocolate, said my friend.
True... but I will be cleaning out my closets and you won't be.
Well, I do like the idea... I could give up coffee and desserts.
That will be tough because you are going to miss the caffeine, I insisted.
No, I won't... he assured... caffeine does not affect me.
How do you know?
I never used to drink coffee... and it never bothered me not to have the caffeine.
That is because you never had the caffeine... but now you have so you are going to get headaches and get tired when you quit cold turkey.
No I won't, he persisted.
That is like a heroine addict saying that the heroine that he never did... did not affect him.
It is nothing like that, he said, starting to get a little testy. You know what?... I am going to give coffee up for the Lord but also just to prove that you are wrong.
By the way, I added, you can't just substitute some other form of caffeine, or it's no good.
Not good for you or for God?
Neither. I could see he was starting to hedge his bets.
He followed up: I also need a ruling on the desserts... what if I eat a donut in the morning. That is not really dessert.
I would agree with that.
What about apple pie in the middle of the day?
So your dilemma is... if you eat a dessert-like food but not for dessert, does that count as a dessert?
What if we just say you will give up sweets?
No... I am not giving up coffee and sweets. Coffee and dessert, he insisted.
I will give you the donut... but not the apple pie. That's fair.
Agreed. If he'd have had his gavel, he might just have hit the pew with it.
Hmm... I wondered what the elderly lady in front of us was thinking about our interpretation of sacrifice!
So with that settled, we listened to a great homily about what we as families and as individuals can do during the Lenten season to bring us closer to the Lord. We got our ashes, took Communion, and went back to work.
I won't bore you with the banter about the Latin singer. She wasn't Latino, but she sang a song in Latin.
I had an appointment later that afternoon, and before it began, I looked in the mirror and saw the ashes on my forehead. I had forgotten about them and wondered if my client might be a little taken aback. As I entered the conference room, I decided to put him at ease, so I commented that I had just seen the ashes on my forehead in the bathroom mirror and remembered that I had received them earlier in the day.
My client looked at me and said, Yeah, it has been so cold... everyone is using their fireplaces and stuff!
My client thought that I had just gotten ashes on my forehead from handling wood in a fireplace. I started to explain about Ash Wednesday but thought better of it. I had had enough clever conversations for one day and besides that... I wanted to get a jump on getting home early. I only have forty days to get all my closets cleaned!
I hope you all have a great Lenten season.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... Good night, Uncle Dave...
When I was a kid, my family used to make annual trips to visit my grandmother and my Uncle Dave, in Connellsville, Pennsylvania.
As I recall it... from my days as a youth... Connellsville was about eight hours away. We would stock up on comic books and candy for the long trek. We would jump in the back of my dad's station wagon and sit in the way back. Often, we would sit facing backwards looking at the vehicles driving behind us.
I am getting nauseous just thinking about that.
Once we arrived, we would greet my grandmother in her roomy townhouse before running out to play kick the can or hide and seek. Once it got dark, we would play tag with a glow in the dark ball. In between games, we would run to the candy store that was, oh, I dunno... about two or three miles down the road... all by ourselves... like we were adults living on our own.
During most visits, we would head into town and hit Bud Murphy's for pizza.
I loved those visits to Pennsylvania.
I mentioned that my Uncle lived with my grandmother.
Uncle Dave had down's syndrome and lived with my grandmother until she passed away several years ago. He then moved in with one of my aunts. Uncle Dave passed away at the age of 62 last week, and Cheryl and I drove to Connellsville for the funeral with my older brothers Jeff and Joe.
Some of what I am about to write I knew before this trip... but some of it I learned on Saturday.
Turns out that Connellsville is only about three and a half hours away. My grandmother lived in a small public housing community in a small brick dwelling. I have no idea how we were all able to walk around in that home, much less find sleeping space for six or seven people. And the candy store was about 200 feet away... just at the end of the sidewalk. Joe informed that my dad would stand in my grandmother's doorway and watch us every time we made the trip for some candy.
Bud Murphy's was not really downtown, but was right across the highway from my grandmother's home.
But we did play for hours and hours, and I did love those visits to PA.
One of the things that made those visits enjoyable was seeing my Uncle Dave.
Uncle Dave did not talk much, but that did not mean that you couldn't understand how he felt or what he wanted. If he were thirsty, he'd put his hands to his lips as if sipping from a cup. When you forced him to tell you want he wanted, he would say Waaater! as if he had been crawling in a desert for days.
Whenever he met one of our girlfriends, he would point to the girl and look at the boy and ask You? as if he wondered how "You" could get someone this pretty. That was always followed by a demand to Kiss her! which would then be followed by Uncle Dave kissing her hand and mockingly claiming her as My girl! as he faced you chest to chest.
One of Uncle Dave's biggest advocates was my father.
My dad would do anything for Dave, including making him say and do things for himself. Dave did not always like being forced to ask for the water. And he sure did not like it when he would ask for water and then be told that he had to get up and get it himself. In fact, on his way to get the water, he would often brush by my dad and say, in a slow almost-whisper: I hate you Paul!
If you ever met my dad, you would know that not too many people could get away with that. We loved that line and my brothers and I often used that line when my dad would ask us to do something that we did not want to do... of course we never had the guts to say it within earshot of dear old dad.
During the service, the pastor mentioned that Dave loved hot dogs, pizza, listening to music and most especially, Elvis. When the mood struck him, Uncle Dave would grab a microphone... typically a clothes pin, a pen, or a spoon... and shake his hips while lip syncing the words to Jailhouse Rock.
I would add John Wayne to that list of things he loved. When John Wayne died, or anyone who Dave associated with being a hero would pass away, he would put his GI Joe in a shoe box and drape a rag/flag over the casket. Always paying his proper respects.
The pastor concluded that Dave enjoyed the simple things in life and commented on how Dave was able to make an impact on so many people's lives. And with that, I would whole-heartedly agree.
In my own life, when Cheryl was pregnant with our first child, the doctor asked if we would like to have amniocentesis performed, explaining that it could reveal potential problems. The doctor specifically mentioned down's syndrome. This made the decision to pass on the procedure very easy. I remember immediately thinking about my Uncle Dave and thinking... that would not be the worst thing in the world. I would have a child that I would take care of for the rest of my life.
The pastor mentioned that we were not saying good bye to Dave, but instead we were saying good night. He opined that Uncle Dave was probably greeting people in Heaven. At this point, I turned to Cheryl and said, I hate you Paul! I thought that was funny... and appropriate for the moment. Cheryl just blubbered at the thought of the two of them being reunited.
Uncle Dave also had nicknames for most people. My mom was Ma'am. As in How do. Ma'am? as he hiked his pants up and puffed out his chest. Another of his sisters was Toots, and an older brother was Sonny. Most pretty girls were Cookie. He couldn't really whistle, but he would pucker his lips and make the whistling noise... right before he would call them Cookie!
I am not sure how he came up with most of these names, but there was one name that had an obvious explanation.
One of my younger cousins was Whaa Whaa because like most babies, she cried a lot. Unfortunately for her, when she was a baby, she spent a lot of time around Uncle Dave. Whaa Whaa was at the funeral, and as she turned to leave, I could see that she was crying as she was leaving him for the last time. Again, I turned to Cheryl and told her that Whaa Whaa was appropriate. This made Cheryl smile through her tears.
Uncle Dave had a special place in Whaa Whaa's life, just like he did in everyone else's there.
I said earlier that if I had a child with down's syndrome, it would not be the worst thing in the world. When I said that, I was thinking that I could have a positive impact on that child's life.
In reality, it was a child with down's syndrome that had the impact on our lives.
You hear it all the time... that every life matters. It may not be what you wanted, and it may not be what you expected. But every life is a gift from God... and He makes no mistakes.
Good night Uncle Dave... you will be missed.
As I recall it... from my days as a youth... Connellsville was about eight hours away. We would stock up on comic books and candy for the long trek. We would jump in the back of my dad's station wagon and sit in the way back. Often, we would sit facing backwards looking at the vehicles driving behind us.
I am getting nauseous just thinking about that.
Once we arrived, we would greet my grandmother in her roomy townhouse before running out to play kick the can or hide and seek. Once it got dark, we would play tag with a glow in the dark ball. In between games, we would run to the candy store that was, oh, I dunno... about two or three miles down the road... all by ourselves... like we were adults living on our own.
During most visits, we would head into town and hit Bud Murphy's for pizza.
I loved those visits to Pennsylvania.
I mentioned that my Uncle lived with my grandmother.
Uncle Dave had down's syndrome and lived with my grandmother until she passed away several years ago. He then moved in with one of my aunts. Uncle Dave passed away at the age of 62 last week, and Cheryl and I drove to Connellsville for the funeral with my older brothers Jeff and Joe.
Some of what I am about to write I knew before this trip... but some of it I learned on Saturday.
Turns out that Connellsville is only about three and a half hours away. My grandmother lived in a small public housing community in a small brick dwelling. I have no idea how we were all able to walk around in that home, much less find sleeping space for six or seven people. And the candy store was about 200 feet away... just at the end of the sidewalk. Joe informed that my dad would stand in my grandmother's doorway and watch us every time we made the trip for some candy.
Bud Murphy's was not really downtown, but was right across the highway from my grandmother's home.
But we did play for hours and hours, and I did love those visits to PA.
One of the things that made those visits enjoyable was seeing my Uncle Dave.
Uncle Dave did not talk much, but that did not mean that you couldn't understand how he felt or what he wanted. If he were thirsty, he'd put his hands to his lips as if sipping from a cup. When you forced him to tell you want he wanted, he would say Waaater! as if he had been crawling in a desert for days.
Whenever he met one of our girlfriends, he would point to the girl and look at the boy and ask You? as if he wondered how "You" could get someone this pretty. That was always followed by a demand to Kiss her! which would then be followed by Uncle Dave kissing her hand and mockingly claiming her as My girl! as he faced you chest to chest.
One of Uncle Dave's biggest advocates was my father.
My dad would do anything for Dave, including making him say and do things for himself. Dave did not always like being forced to ask for the water. And he sure did not like it when he would ask for water and then be told that he had to get up and get it himself. In fact, on his way to get the water, he would often brush by my dad and say, in a slow almost-whisper: I hate you Paul!
If you ever met my dad, you would know that not too many people could get away with that. We loved that line and my brothers and I often used that line when my dad would ask us to do something that we did not want to do... of course we never had the guts to say it within earshot of dear old dad.
During the service, the pastor mentioned that Dave loved hot dogs, pizza, listening to music and most especially, Elvis. When the mood struck him, Uncle Dave would grab a microphone... typically a clothes pin, a pen, or a spoon... and shake his hips while lip syncing the words to Jailhouse Rock.
I would add John Wayne to that list of things he loved. When John Wayne died, or anyone who Dave associated with being a hero would pass away, he would put his GI Joe in a shoe box and drape a rag/flag over the casket. Always paying his proper respects.
The pastor concluded that Dave enjoyed the simple things in life and commented on how Dave was able to make an impact on so many people's lives. And with that, I would whole-heartedly agree.
In my own life, when Cheryl was pregnant with our first child, the doctor asked if we would like to have amniocentesis performed, explaining that it could reveal potential problems. The doctor specifically mentioned down's syndrome. This made the decision to pass on the procedure very easy. I remember immediately thinking about my Uncle Dave and thinking... that would not be the worst thing in the world. I would have a child that I would take care of for the rest of my life.
The pastor mentioned that we were not saying good bye to Dave, but instead we were saying good night. He opined that Uncle Dave was probably greeting people in Heaven. At this point, I turned to Cheryl and said, I hate you Paul! I thought that was funny... and appropriate for the moment. Cheryl just blubbered at the thought of the two of them being reunited.
Uncle Dave also had nicknames for most people. My mom was Ma'am. As in How do. Ma'am? as he hiked his pants up and puffed out his chest. Another of his sisters was Toots, and an older brother was Sonny. Most pretty girls were Cookie. He couldn't really whistle, but he would pucker his lips and make the whistling noise... right before he would call them Cookie!
I am not sure how he came up with most of these names, but there was one name that had an obvious explanation.
One of my younger cousins was Whaa Whaa because like most babies, she cried a lot. Unfortunately for her, when she was a baby, she spent a lot of time around Uncle Dave. Whaa Whaa was at the funeral, and as she turned to leave, I could see that she was crying as she was leaving him for the last time. Again, I turned to Cheryl and told her that Whaa Whaa was appropriate. This made Cheryl smile through her tears.
Uncle Dave had a special place in Whaa Whaa's life, just like he did in everyone else's there.
I said earlier that if I had a child with down's syndrome, it would not be the worst thing in the world. When I said that, I was thinking that I could have a positive impact on that child's life.
In reality, it was a child with down's syndrome that had the impact on our lives.
You hear it all the time... that every life matters. It may not be what you wanted, and it may not be what you expected. But every life is a gift from God... and He makes no mistakes.
Good night Uncle Dave... you will be missed.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Funny Guy Friday... I win I win I win!
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
I am not the most competitive person in the world.
Don't get me wrong... I want to win when I play a game or enter a contest, but I am not crazy. Having said that, I want my kids to know what it is like to compete. Win or lose, they need to know what it is like to work against other people, to perform under pressure, and to keep their wits about them when the pressure is on.
Matthew is a lot like I am.
When we play against each other, I try... and am often successful at... getting inside his pea brain. He tries to give it back, but he does not understand that, as a white kid growing up playing a lot of basketball, I have heard it all. The only new retorts I've heard from him have something to do with my being an "old man." At least, I think it has something to do with my being old, but it is hard for me to hear because typically he utters this nonsense as I am driving by him for a layup.
Noah, on the other hand, is not cut from the same cloth. He likes to take his time and does not like to be rushed. He crumbles whenever I talk trash.
I know what you are thinking: why is an adult talking trash to a ten-year old? The answer is simple: I want to win.
I know what else you are thinking: can't he just beat his kid one-on-one without talking trash? Well... yes, I can. However, I don't challenge Noah to games of one-on-one. That would be too easy. No, I challenge Noah to drawing contests. I will admit that he is a way better artist than I... but he tends to panic. On occasion, I may point out his every little mistake... or tell him that his mother loves me more... or that he was adopted from the Indians.
No... wait a second... my sister Michel used to tell me that I was adopted by the Indians. I never liked Michel.
Anyway, this past week, Cheryl posted a picture of Zeus that Noah drew.
They are studying mythology, and as part of the lesson, Noah drew a pretty cool picture of Zeus. Of course, people commented and mentioned what a great artist he is... or ... he gets it from his mother.
Whatever.
I had read enough, so I challenged him to an art contest. We each would draw a character from Greek mythology and post the two pictures on facebook... and let our facebook friends decide.
My plan was to get us both in the same room on Sunday afternoon and begin drawing.
In the course of the contest, I would torment Little Picasso and make him as crazy as that ear chopping nutjob Van Gogh (by the way, I just exhausted all of my knowledge about artists... Van Gogh was crazy). This may sound harsh but I was going to render Noah totally incapable of drawing something as simple as a stick figure.
I could taste victory!
On my drive home from work, I decided that I was going to draw Poseidon. He is kind of a cool god and there were limitless possibilities with oceans and ships. I may have even laughed a sinister laugh as I drove home knowing that my little boy would soon be reduced to a bowlful of jelly. The thought of a little bowlful of jelly with a pencil in its little jelly hand amused me!
As I walked through the door, Cheryl asked if I had seen Noah's entry in the contest. Poseidon.
No way, jack... the drawing does not start until Sunday.
I must admit, it was pretty good.
Besides... I am drawing Poseidon... and the contest does not start until Sunday.
It was actually really good.
We have to be in the same room... and we have to draw in the same room... on Sunday!
Both of us drawing on Sunday was crucial to my strategy.
Noah broke in: You never mentioned any of that when you issued the challenge! Poseidon is my entry... you can draw Cupid!
Cupid! Cupid is a sissy in a diaper. I am not drawing Cupid.
When I started to do my research to select the perfect mythological character, I ran into two little problems. Well... considering this was a drawing contest, you could say that there were two big problems. First, all the really cool characters were hard to draw. Second, I really can't draw. I was really putting all of my eggs in the turn him into a Van Gogh crazy jellyman basket.
Ultimately, I selected Atlas. Why Atlas? He is symbolic of my life, what with weight of the world on my shoulders. Kind of ironic because Noah's drawing of Poseidon is symbolic of his life... a day at the beach.
Despite my lack of talent, my rendition of Atlas was a worthy entry into the contest.
In fact, I won by a very large margin.
The facebook vote was eighteen for Noah and two for me. (On a side note to Ray Wander and Bob Higgins: I plan on drawing you both an original piece for Christmas this year. Thank you for your support.)
There were six weenies that could not pick a clear cut winner and refused to cast a vote either way... and one person... that I plan on un-friending... that picked whichever one that I did not draw.
You may be wondering how it is that I won by such a very large margin when the facebook vote was 18-2. Well, not only did I fail to tell Noah that that we were supposed to draw together on Super Sunday, I also failed to mention how I intended to keep score. You see, I know that all the people that could not pick a winner, really wanted to pick my drawing... but were afraid to hurt little Noah's feelings. Those votes go into my column. That brings the score to 18-8. But I am not done yet.
Cheryl has 303 friends. Out of those 303 friends, only 26 cast a vote. That leaves 277 voters that did not cast a vote... because they did not want to hurt Noah's feelings. Those non-votes go into my column. But to be fair, I am only going to count half of those 277, conceding that that approximately half of the voters never saw Cheryl's post announcing that the voting had commenced.
So the final vote was 146.5 for me and 18 for Noah. I don't want to appear to be gloating, so I will round down to 146 votes for me and 18 for Noah.
Why round down? I don't want to rub Noah's face in it. I mean I am competitive, but I am not the most competitive person in the world. I mean... I'm not crazy!
What I am... is a winner!
I am not the most competitive person in the world.
Don't get me wrong... I want to win when I play a game or enter a contest, but I am not crazy. Having said that, I want my kids to know what it is like to compete. Win or lose, they need to know what it is like to work against other people, to perform under pressure, and to keep their wits about them when the pressure is on.
Matthew is a lot like I am.
When we play against each other, I try... and am often successful at... getting inside his pea brain. He tries to give it back, but he does not understand that, as a white kid growing up playing a lot of basketball, I have heard it all. The only new retorts I've heard from him have something to do with my being an "old man." At least, I think it has something to do with my being old, but it is hard for me to hear because typically he utters this nonsense as I am driving by him for a layup.
Noah, on the other hand, is not cut from the same cloth. He likes to take his time and does not like to be rushed. He crumbles whenever I talk trash.
I know what you are thinking: why is an adult talking trash to a ten-year old? The answer is simple: I want to win.
I know what else you are thinking: can't he just beat his kid one-on-one without talking trash? Well... yes, I can. However, I don't challenge Noah to games of one-on-one. That would be too easy. No, I challenge Noah to drawing contests. I will admit that he is a way better artist than I... but he tends to panic. On occasion, I may point out his every little mistake... or tell him that his mother loves me more... or that he was adopted from the Indians.
No... wait a second... my sister Michel used to tell me that I was adopted by the Indians. I never liked Michel.
Anyway, this past week, Cheryl posted a picture of Zeus that Noah drew.
They are studying mythology, and as part of the lesson, Noah drew a pretty cool picture of Zeus. Of course, people commented and mentioned what a great artist he is... or ... he gets it from his mother.
Whatever.
I had read enough, so I challenged him to an art contest. We each would draw a character from Greek mythology and post the two pictures on facebook... and let our facebook friends decide.
My plan was to get us both in the same room on Sunday afternoon and begin drawing.
In the course of the contest, I would torment Little Picasso and make him as crazy as that ear chopping nutjob Van Gogh (by the way, I just exhausted all of my knowledge about artists... Van Gogh was crazy). This may sound harsh but I was going to render Noah totally incapable of drawing something as simple as a stick figure.
I could taste victory!
On my drive home from work, I decided that I was going to draw Poseidon. He is kind of a cool god and there were limitless possibilities with oceans and ships. I may have even laughed a sinister laugh as I drove home knowing that my little boy would soon be reduced to a bowlful of jelly. The thought of a little bowlful of jelly with a pencil in its little jelly hand amused me!
As I walked through the door, Cheryl asked if I had seen Noah's entry in the contest. Poseidon.
No way, jack... the drawing does not start until Sunday.
I must admit, it was pretty good.
Besides... I am drawing Poseidon... and the contest does not start until Sunday.
It was actually really good.
We have to be in the same room... and we have to draw in the same room... on Sunday!
Both of us drawing on Sunday was crucial to my strategy.
Noah broke in: You never mentioned any of that when you issued the challenge! Poseidon is my entry... you can draw Cupid!
Cupid! Cupid is a sissy in a diaper. I am not drawing Cupid.
When I started to do my research to select the perfect mythological character, I ran into two little problems. Well... considering this was a drawing contest, you could say that there were two big problems. First, all the really cool characters were hard to draw. Second, I really can't draw. I was really putting all of my eggs in the turn him into a Van Gogh crazy jellyman basket.
Ultimately, I selected Atlas. Why Atlas? He is symbolic of my life, what with weight of the world on my shoulders. Kind of ironic because Noah's drawing of Poseidon is symbolic of his life... a day at the beach.
Despite my lack of talent, my rendition of Atlas was a worthy entry into the contest.
In fact, I won by a very large margin.
The facebook vote was eighteen for Noah and two for me. (On a side note to Ray Wander and Bob Higgins: I plan on drawing you both an original piece for Christmas this year. Thank you for your support.)
There were six weenies that could not pick a clear cut winner and refused to cast a vote either way... and one person... that I plan on un-friending... that picked whichever one that I did not draw.
You may be wondering how it is that I won by such a very large margin when the facebook vote was 18-2. Well, not only did I fail to tell Noah that that we were supposed to draw together on Super Sunday, I also failed to mention how I intended to keep score. You see, I know that all the people that could not pick a winner, really wanted to pick my drawing... but were afraid to hurt little Noah's feelings. Those votes go into my column. That brings the score to 18-8. But I am not done yet.
Cheryl has 303 friends. Out of those 303 friends, only 26 cast a vote. That leaves 277 voters that did not cast a vote... because they did not want to hurt Noah's feelings. Those non-votes go into my column. But to be fair, I am only going to count half of those 277, conceding that that approximately half of the voters never saw Cheryl's post announcing that the voting had commenced.
So the final vote was 146.5 for me and 18 for Noah. I don't want to appear to be gloating, so I will round down to 146 votes for me and 18 for Noah.
Why round down? I don't want to rub Noah's face in it. I mean I am competitive, but I am not the most competitive person in the world. I mean... I'm not crazy!
What I am... is a winner!
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| Noah's Poseidon |
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| Funny Guy's self-portrait |
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