Parent-Teacher Night 2013 or Shoot Me Now

So my all my fears are confirmed. I am the worst parent I know and there is now photographic proof of this. Of course, it had to be displayed on the wall outside of my daughters First Grade classroom on Parent-Teacher Night for everyone to see. While other children chose more 'upbeat' emotions to display, mine chose 'sad'.

"I feel sad...
When 'my parints yal at me and when peeple be mein to me.'"

I hoped against hope that her spelling would confuse anyone who saw it like other parents, teachers, child services....

And the 'face'! I'm sure the teacher was wondering what horrific image or 'recovered memory' my daughter called up to make that face.

We sat on tiny chairs in the hallway as we awaited our turn to be called in to the classroom. My wife and I tried to make light of it but gave up as we witnessed the facial expressions of other parents as they looked over the wall of photographic emotions or in our case, The Wall of Shame.

The Chritsmas Elf Returneth or There Will Be Blood Part II

I was afraid of this. I have been through this before, about three years ago, and had forgotten like the fool I am. Now I have to contend with my four year old daughter who has heard rumors. This post is from my first experience with the little bastard.

 When I was six years old, I still believed in Santa Clause. To insure that I continued to believe, my mother went to great lengths. That year, in our humble little second floor apartment, she somehow managed to put footprints in the snow on the roof outside the bedroom window I shared with my younger sister. There were even little hoof prints and what looked like sleigh tracks. My sister and I ran into the living room to tell her what we had seen, totally oblivious to the cast on her leg and the neighbors sitting there with her. To this day, I appreciate what she did. It was one of those magical moments that still lingers with me at this time of year.

We weren’t big on ‘traditions’ at Christmas. We would go to a mid-night service on Christmas Eve, we opened our presents on Christmas morning, (Unlike the barbaric practice that some participate in, where one to all gifts are opened on Christmas Eve. Pagans!) and on New Years, my mother would burn a Bayberry candle all day for good luck and prosperity in the coming year.

I don’t know exactly when I stopped ‘believing’ in Santa. I like to think it was around eight or nine. I don’t know. I have a ten year old step-son, now. He insists he believes in Santa. My wife struggles to keep it going. For the three years we have been married, it’s been a priority. One of the ways this is accomplished is by marking all but one or two gifts ‘From : Santa’. He spends half the day with her, then goes to his step-dad’s and finds even more gifts ‘From : Santa’. His parents discuss what they are getting him so they don’t screw up and get the same thing, because, as you well know, this would shatter the charade and the boy would know.

I play along. I have to. I don’t want to ruin Christmas for him. Yet, part of me wonders…suspects…that he may be "playing" along for the sake of all the adults at this point. That has been my belief for the past year. But I go along with it all. And all of the traditions my wife’s family has. That is, until this year. This year, I had to put my foot down. I had to put it down hard. I had to put it down on ‘Linda The Elf’.

Trying To Catch Up

I seriously need to update some things. I need to update ‘The List’ though I am currently limited as to what I can put on it. (I think I’m going implode if I have to hold back much longer)

I was going through some of my old blog posts that some friends were kind enough to forward to me. Why in Gods name they had them saved to begin with is beyond me. I’m posting one from about 5 years ago that definitely needs updating.

Things That Make My Wife Laugh

6 weeks into the pregnancy and my wife has finally discovered what a comedian I am.
These are things that make her laugh.

"Honey, you shouldn't eat that, it has (caffiene, sugar, carbs, a non-Splenda artificial sweetner)."
"I can handle poopy diapers. I pick up the dog's shit, don't I?"
"If it's a boy we could call him...
Cotton?
Cash?
Cadence?
Levi?'
"If it's a girl we could call her
Journey?
Carmelita?
Gabrielle?"
"You know you shouldn't do that."
"Of course I will get up in the middle of the night with you."
Things that REALLY make her laugh...
"How hard can it be?"
"But I like the playpen with the changing table."
"What do you mean I won't be able to use a changing table?"
"Then why do they even make changing tables?"
"OOOh. I like the little sheepies!" (Don't ask.)
"But it says right here that the curved bottle is better for the baby."
"If I can handle you when you got food poisoning, I can handle a little baby spew."
"Honey, will you stop explaining every little thing to me. I'll figure it out for myself as we go along."
"Honey, will you stop explaining every little thing to me. I'll figure it out for myself as we go along. I'm a grown man."
"Honey, will you stop explaining every little thing to me. I'll figure it out for myself as we go along. I'm a grown man. I've put complex electronics together."
"You know you shouldn't eat that. What did the doctor tell you?"
This last one really cracks her up.
"Honey...Honey! Honey, you know that's bad for the baby. Don't make me assert my authority."

Did I Leave You Hanging?

So it’s been a while, eh? I’ve had a lot going on and though I tend to share personal stories here (much to my wife’s dismay – who, by the way, has told me she is willing to offer her services as editor for my blog. Apparently she has issues with my grammar and spelling. Me?!! Imagine that.) I can’t share everything. Legal crap and all. But what I have been going through is similar to something that I have been through and wrote about before. After talking to a good friend tonight who is going through a similar situation, I thought I would repost the story here. It’s not one of my best blogs, to be honest, but one of my favorites. I’d like to dedicate this to Stephen, to my on-line medical expert Seth (Doc), and Aaron who reminded that you have to actually 'post' shit to your blog once in a while. There is some truth to the saying ‘Misery loves company.’ I like to think I’ve been in some pretty damn good company.


I have discovered something. Something we need, all of us, to find a way to utilize. I firmly believe it could put an end to war, bloodshed, and loss of life. Some of you may say, “That’s nothing new.” when you hear what I have discovered and you may be right. It’s what we can ‘do’ with it that has yet to be explored. So gather ‘round and listen up and for the love of God, don’t let this information fall into the wrong hands.

How Not To Register Your Little Vampire For Pre-School

Tonight was ‘”Registration Night’ for my daughters pre-school. I missed it last year, which, I have been reminded about frequently since last- year. Of course I arrived fashionably late. (Thirty-nine minutes is fashionable, right?)
Walking into a room full of tiny tables and chairs is odd enough. A room full of grown people sitting in the tiny chairs at the tiny tables is just freakish. I quietly made my way over to my wife, seated in her tiny chair, and reached for a tiny wooden chair that was next to her. At this point, I was under the assumption I would be able to blend in without any fanfare or undue attention as the teacher was going over the school handbook. Reaching for the tiny wooden chair put a quick end to that illusion as my wife and the teacher both spoke up “Not that one.”

What’s In A Name?

This was originally posted about five years ago. God, in all his wisdom and humor, looked down on this 40-something year old man and said “I have one more little prank surprise for you.”
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The Phillies Jersey–A Thank You Note/Story

I recently had the great pleasure of working with the CEO of a company we deal with, along with several other reps. In talking I learned we were both from the same neck of the woods in the north east. We knew the same diners, cheese-steak houses, and all that good stuff. He still resides there. After a long day that led to dinner, a quest to find a karaoke bar, and a limo ride back that included two very drunken passengers the driver threw in with our lot...he told me he would like to gift me with an authentic Phillies Jersey. Within a few weeks, it arrived with a very nice letter. Of course, I had to respond. Here is a copy of the email I sent.

The List : A True Story

My wife has a list. It’s kind of a long list, but it’s hers and she’s entitled. I think we all have lists. Some of us keep them private; some of us limit them to certain things. My wife’s list is broken into categories.

For example, there is the celebrity category. We do not watch movies with Brad Pitt, Angeline Jollies, Tom Cruise, and a few others. I cringe when a favorite celebrity gets their name in the headlines. If they have done anything to offend my wife, they are going to end up on The List, and there will be a whole new library of films, video’s, or music we will know longer enjoy. Though I have yet to actually see The List, I imagine it as a scroll of yellowed parchment with worn wooden handles. It’s thick, and when unrolled, could easily reach from Intercourse, Pa. to Nowhere, Az. You can find me there, right in-between screwed and lost.