My Husband's Best Friend

My husband has a loyal and dedicated friend that he has learned to treasure and protect over the years. I must admit, I often find myself jealous of my husband's best friend. He is always by his side. No matter what. Without fail. They share early morning breakfasts and late night snacks. They cozy up together during the morning news and the nightly sports reports. They might even find some time to watch Heros and laugh until they cry watching The Office.

Oh, sometimes I join them, but I am often forgotten. Not on purpose, mind you. But, forgotten none the less. I am the third wheel whenever the two of them get together.


Sometimes I take matters into my own hands and try to become more familiar with this best friend. Oh, how I long to be a part of this relationship. But, my husband's own jealousy and lack of control always leaves me empty handed, alone, and watching something with a ball flying through the air. They seem to share all of the same likes, dislikes, and passion for all things sports related.

I am certain I could share in their passions and broaden their minds, if only they would let me. I could open up a whole new world to them. One of shopping while still sitting on the couch and a plethora of romantic comedies, along with my beloved 80's movies.

If only my husband would let me hold the remote control...

Maybe then I could find something a little more interesting than basketball to watch on my TV.

One day his grip will loosen up and I will have myself a new, battery operated best friend. And, I too, won't let go.

Maybe THAT is why his grip is so tight...

Open Letter to the Neighbors

Dear Neighbors,

We are sorry that we still have leaves on our lawn. We know that we often wait too long between mows. We know that the leaves fall every autumn and, yet, it is always a surprise to us and we often take too much time to rake them up. You see, we do a good job of keeping the inside of our house clean because it is Mrs. Nurse Boy's domain. We do a poor job of keeping the outside of our house clean because it is Mr. Nurse Boy's domain. Mr. Nurse Boy hates to do yard work. It is not so bad once he gets started, but it is hard to get him started.

How does Mr. Nurse Boy know that it irritates you, poor neighbors?

Because when you rake, you rake a perfect line at the property line. I couldn't draw such a straight line on paper with a ruler. I think you use a laser line or something. When I do the leaves, I rake the bulky stuff, then mulch the rest with my mower. I tend to stray over the property line a few feet.

Not you.

Perfect line.

Oh, and those times when a stick from our tree falls in your yard, thanks for throwing it back in my yard. I've seen that a couple of times. Maybe I should try to charge you for the energy saving you get from my tree from the shade in the summer. Oh, I digress.

Maybe it is the stubbornness in me, but it makes me want to wait until we have had a day of high winds blowing in your direction before I will mow again. Today I was planning on raking/mowing, but there is a rain snow mix going on out there, so I figured I would blog instead.

As long as I am apologizing, I would like to apologize to the neighbors across the street. I am sorry that we annoy you by saying hello and waving every now and then. I know that it is annoying to see people try to be friendly. Please, keep ignoring us when we display such terrible behavior.

To the neighbors behind us, I am sorry that my kids play with balls. You see they are boys, and balls are fascinating to them. I am sorry that when a ball goes over the fence they climb the fence to retrieve it. We have instructed them to let the ball lay if it goes over the fence, but sometimes they really want to continue with their game and they try to sneak over the fence to get it. Please, keep reminding them they annoy you by banging on the kitchen window and screaming when they do it. That is very helpful. It makes us want to encourage our boys to mow your yard when you get too old to do so. I don't think that will be long. It will probably happen right when they are prime mowing ages.

To the neighbors on the other side, I am sorry that my roof damaged your tree when it blew over on it. Thank you for not offering to do anything when this happened. Thank you for telling us how you make a lot of money. It may not have been good timing to mention this during the same conversation that you told us your insurance company said you legally were not liable for anything. I am sorry for feeling like maybe you should have been concerned. It was a nice touch though when you came over to ask the name of our roofer, when you needed to get some roof work done. Well played.

Mrs. Nurse Boy and I have mentioned this before, but if every one of your neighbors are weird, does that make you the weird one? We seem to function well in society, but that is a matter of opinion, I suppose.

The Question

Nurse Boy here. I know, two posts in a row! I am procrastinating on my assignment that I should be working on...

Most of you probably think it is a good idea to have your kid read the Bible. Filling your kid with the word of God is usually a good thing. Well, Dimples has been reading the Bible on his own for the last couple of weeks. He has finished Genesis. He noticed something that he was unfamiliar with so he asked his Bible teacher in school.

What is sexual relations?

His bible teacher told him that was a very important question, and that he should ask his mom and dad. So, as soon as he got in the car with Mrs. NB that afternoon he asks, "What is sexual relations?" I am not sure what her exact words were, but it created doubt in Dimples that the Mrs. even knew what it was. She did tell him that I would talk to him about about it.

Mrs. NB gave me a heads up, so as soon as I got home from work I had Dimples, who is turning nine on Saturday, come up to my room with me while I changed my clothes. I am not quite as shy about the subject as Mrs. NB. In fact she was trying to coach me to not say too much. I had been looking forward to this subject for a while, so she was trying to curb my enthusiasm. I started out basic, but he was having none of it. There were a lot of hows, and whys, and uncomfortable smiling, and some expressions of horror. We laughed, he cried, and then asked, "So you and mom have had sexual relations three times then?"

No.

How many times?

More than three... You see it doesn't always take the first time, and besides husband and wives like to have sexual relations.

Do you still?

Yes.

Is that why you had your thing cut?

Yes.

I explained that he will think of it as a good thing eventually. We went into a lot of specifics and he was satisfied.

I feel proud and sad at the same time. There is a whole lot of innocence that is gone now. The beautiful thing is that my eight year old just learned the facts of life by reading the Bible and asking the right people questions. That is how it is supposed to be. There is no shame and minimal discomfort surrounding the topic. He knows it is not a topic to talk to just anyone about, but knows he can come to me and ask any question that he has. He did tonight while typing this post. He asked, "So how do you know you are going to do it, does God just make your parts ready and then bam, you have to do it?" I apparently wasn't clear about getting to the point where he will want to when he is older. I don't know if it is the nurse in me, or just being the sexual relations enthusiast that I am, but I loved this conversation.

Mrs. NB is still in the fetal position and has not been able to make eye contact with Dimples for the last couple of days. She will need to get over it in time for Sweet Pea. That's six years of prep. I don't think she will be ready.

I Have Become My Mother

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

It is inevitable. We all eventually become our mothers. It isn't necessarily a bad thing. My mother is a fabulous woman who sacrificed for her kids and is now a terrific grandmother. Why is it that we can only focus on our mother's bad, or undesirable, traits that we slowly develop over time? Why can't we focus on those traits that we are happy we inherited? For example, I can make a mean pan of ziti. Where did I learn how to just throw those ingredients into the pan until perfection is obtained? My Italian mother, of course. However, I tend to not give her credit for that. My lack of patience, on the other hand, is ALL her fault. (OK, not really.)

Growing up, my mother had three traits that DROVE ME CRAZY. I am not even airing my dirty laundry here. She knew these things drove me crazy. I think I complained about them on a daily basis.

What were they? Well...

1. She ALWAYS drove the car until the little pointer thing (hey, I spend my days with a two year old) was PAST the "E", for empty, on the gas gauge. ALWAYS. This was before they had lights and alarms to warn you that you are at 1/8 of a tank or less. And, yes, we did run out of gas at least once. My mom claims it was only once. I think it was twice, maybe three times. I spent my entire childhood checking the gas gauge each time I got into the car and made comments about how much, or how little gas we had. (To this day, I HAVE to fill up as soon as the red light comes on. My husband tries to convince me it is not quite the emergency I make it out to be, but I just can't risk it.)

2. EVERY TIME we left the warmth of the indoors to go outside during cold weather, my mother would have to turn around and go back in to go to the bathroom. EVERY TIME. (I am going to pay for this one!)

3. My mother could NEVER find her keys whenever we were out and about. Never, ever could she find her keys. Every time we would leave a store, she would be convinced that she had lost her keys. Forever. She did this almost daily. She always found them at the bottom of her purse, after she emptied the contents of her purse while standing in the middle of some strange public place. By the time I was ten or so, I just stood there waiting for the, "Oh, here they are, at the very bottom of my purse. Imagine that."

Guess what? I can never find my keys now.

I used to think it was just my mom. I now think it is moms everywhere. (If this does not include you, humor me. K?) Us moms have to have diapers, pull ups, wipes, extra clothes, snacks, sippy cups, and so much more swimming around the inside of our purse. I always told my mom that she needed to carry a smaller purse so she could find her keys. How could she? She had to be prepared for any and every emergency.

I get it now. I live it now. My keys are always at the bottom of my purse. Hidden amongst all of the items I am sure we will need. If I don't have them on me, we will definitely need them. How can I risk it?

Someday Sweet Pea will have a list of things that I did during her childhood that drove her crazy. I am pretty sure that my issue with my keys will be number one. She'll learn...

The Blue Dumpster

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

So, I have a confession to make. Boy, I sure do air a lot of my dirty laundry on here! My Dad always says that if we don't, our children will. (I think he may speak from experience.) He is so right. I like to think that with me, what you see is what you get. No, I won't tell you that your butt looks big in those pants. That is a danger zone I am not willing to enter. Besides, I am more worried about my own big butt. But, I try to be an honest and genuine person. I always want to remain approachable. I want to be trustworthy. I want to be a person of good character and true to my word.

OK, I need to stay focused here. Back to my confession.

Are you ready?

I drive a dumpster on wheels. Yes, you read that right. It may look like a regular old mini van on the outside with three car seats on the inside, but it is a glorified dumpster on wheels. I think the whole neighborhood must be using it as such, because we couldn't possibly be the ONLY family adding to that hot mess. Surely not!

I try to clean out the loose papers and trash about every week or so, only to find the van filled with more trash the very next morning. THE. VERY. NEXT. MORNING. There also seems to be an odor that just can't be covered up with a yellow cardboard tree hanging from the rear view mirror. The tree seems to wave at me and mock me as I drive around town, as if to say, "Nice try, lady. You thought a three dollar purchase was going to cover up that nine year old stench?"

Every where we go, people give my children suckers, cookies, candy, papers, stickers, memory verses, crayons, and more PAPER. These items swim around my van. I am so tired of it, not to mention embarrassed when someone peers into the van to talk to the kids. I want to yell out, "No, look away! Look away! We really aren't slobs! Really, we aren't! "

And, we aren't. I take pride in my home. No, it is not ALWAYS clean. Or picked up. But, it USUALLY is. On a bad night, it may take the boys 10 minutes to give their room a thorough cleaning. And, that is with a little wrestling on the side. Our home is not our dumpster.

Our van is.

I have even made cleaning out the van one of the weekly chores for the boys, but the papers still find a way to multiply. The worst part is when my parents borrow the van to take all three of the kids somewhere. (Yes, Dad, I know you taught me better. In all fairness, you never had three kids. I know you had two, but the third one put us over the edge.) My Dad and I used to spend our Saturdays cleaning out the cars. With Q-tips. And, that is no lie. We took pride in our clean cars.

Now, I spend my Saturdays carting kids and Gatorade bottles to soccer games. Honestly, I wouldn't change a thing. Bring on the Gatorade bottles and orange peels! The van couldn't possibly look any worse...or, could it?!

We WILL Survive

Mrs Nurse Boy here.

So, I recently talked Nurse Boy into attending a 6 week Marriage Enrichment Class at a local church. We have always been passionate about marriage as a ministry, as well as focusing on improving our own. It CAN always get better. I can honestly say that I love Nurse Boy more now than I ever have before. So far, I have been able to say that every year.

Since Nurse Boy was delighted to add yet another class to his already busy schedule, I signed us up. It has been nothing but a blessing. We have enjoyed the time together, as well as the opportunity to reflect on our strengths and weaknesses as a couple. (We, of course, do not have any weaknesses ;0) I am always right, he is always wrong. Once we both learn to accept that, our marriage will be stronger than ever!)

However, there IS one problem with our new found connection time. I thought it was a little problem, but to Nurse Boy it is HUGE. The class takes place on Thursday nights. Thursday nights have always held a very special place in our hearts. It is Survivor Night. We usually tape the show and watch it when the kids go to bed. We even watched a taped episode when I was in labor with Bruiser. (Yes, we did!) I was a little distracted, but Nurse Boy filled me in between contractions. Nurse Boy has always considered this a "date night". Yeah, right! I like some quality time to talk, reflect, and analyze our lives, NOT the lives of crazy people looking for their 15 minutes of fame while starving, dirty, and fighting with strangers. Just because we are sitting next to each other, does not a romantic night make.

I digress.

So far, we have missed just about every Survivor since we started our class. Nurse Boy has this problem solved. He now wants DVR. We have only had cable for a year and a half. I still cringe when I pay that bill. I mean, is it really necessary to have 100 channels of infomercials? There is STILL nothing on!

We are living in the dinosaur ages. We have 2 VCRs, but only one still records. However, we lost the original remote to that VCR so we cannot use the timer feature to record. We have to actually be here to press record. Like I said, dinosaur ages. So, we asked my parents (also dinosaurs) to tape the show for us. When we popped the tape in, we watched beautiful black and white snow while enjoying the relaxing sound of static. Apparently, they have issues of their own.

Next, we tried to watch it online. The 40 minute show took us about an hour and a half to get through. For some unknown reason, the show constantly freezes up and pauses when we watch it via the computer. We are fans, but not THAT dedicated.

Yesterday, Nurse Boy asked me to call and get information about DVR. I don't think I am ready to leave the dinosaur ages. Once we have DVR, we won't be able to live without it. That happened with automatic car windows, cell phones for both of us, Internet, and cable just to name a few.

I think I may have just discovered the weakness in our marriage. Maybe, just maybe, it is our obsession with Survivor...

Idiot

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

So, have you ever been out shopping and noticed a car with one of its doors wide open in the parking lot? I mean, who does that?! I always wander over to the car (which is usually a mini van) and mumble something about an idiot under my breath while I close the door for them.

The other day I ran to the grocery store with the boys to pick up a few items. (You already know where this is going, don't you?!) I took the boys in hopes that Sweet Pea would nap and Nurse Boy could work on school stuff without anyone climbing on his back in hopes of some wrestle mania. I actually had to bribe the boys with suckers to get them to willingly go with me. That's right, I am not above bribery. Judge me all you want, but when in a pinch it works.

We pulled up to the store and marched right in. Boys. Suckers. Mom. (I know. Who is the real sucker, right?) We ran through the store at a very rapid pace. One thing about being a mom is we can fill our cart faster than a speeding bullet. With kids, or without. It is a super power given to us once the baby is placed in our arms. Honestly, sometimes I amaze even myself!

We did hit a snag when we got to the check out and the clerk started talking to me. I mean, they don't usually even make eye contact with me! Of course, it is when I am in a hurry that they actually show some customer service. As well, they should. I don't even want to think about the percentage of our annual income that goes to that store! Scary!

But, I digress.

The clerk started asking me about potty training. OH. YES. HE. DID. If only he read this blog, he would have known that is a very sore subject with me. He wanted advice for his three year old. I said, "PRAY! PRAY HARD!"

He looked frightened, as well he should have.

I digress again.

We raced out of the store. Then I see it. A mini van with the side door wide open. What kind of idiot leaves...

Oh, wait...

That is OUR minivan!

I am that idiot!

He Still Makes My Heart Go Pitter-Patter

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

So, this weekend we did sneak in some family time and a few naps. My favorite was the naps.

This weekend I realized that Nurse Boy really gets me. We started dating when we were 18 and have now been married for 11 and 1/2 years. After 17 years, he really gets me.

How do I know this? Let me start from the beginning. When we were first married, he complained every time I got my hair cut:

"Does it really have to cost that much? Can't you go to the same place I go? Do you really need to take out a loan for your shampoo? And, who needs conditioner? If Head and Shoulders is good enough for me, why isn't it good enough for you? I am sure your natural hair color is beautiful..."

You get the idea.

When I stopped working, I couldn't even try to justify my expensive haircuts, shampoo, conditioner, highlights, and hairspray. I started paying a friend of mine $15 to cut my hair in my own kitchen. When she was finished, I even had to clean up the mess. I am not going to lie, I didn't always have the best attitude about it. But, I made the sacrifice for my children.

Slowly, I worked my way back into a salon. It was a salon mostly for the blue haired crowd, hence the inexpensive haircuts and highlights. At least I got to leave the insanity of my own kitchen and get all of the updates on any changes in social security. At night I could even wrap toliet paper around my head to keep my hair in place...did anyone else have a grandma who did this? I mean, does toliet paper REALLY keep your hair in place when you are rolling all around in your sleep?

One day, I made the leap into a REAL salon. The best part? Nurse Boy loved my hair and told me to go back. Yay!!! I even started buying real shampoo (most of the time (on sale), I do still have 3 kids at home) and getting foil highlights to keep me looking young (shut up, let me pretend I am fooling someone out there).

Keep reading, it gets better.

So, this weekend we were at a gathering for a special event. Later on we were discussing some of the fun/crazy people we met and saw. Nurse Boy had noticed that this very sweet lady had a full blown mustache. That is right, a mustache. Poor, poor woman. I informed Nurse Boy that this wasn't nearly as uncommon as he might think. Many women pluck, bleach, and wax that area to stay young and not look like a Yetty. I had to confess that this old broad has had to do a lot more plucking as of late. Sad, but true. He looked at me and said, "If you ever need lazer treatments, we can make that happen." I felt so loved at that moment. Really, I did. You see, he gets me. Lord help me if I ever grow a full blown mustache. But, my husband loves me enough to know that this would be worthy of a second mortgage.

I love that we have grown up together. So what if I taught him to be more shallow, at least no one will be asking if I am his mother at our 50th wedding anniversary.

Rules of the Road

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

Tonight we were out driving. Nurse Boy had the wheel when we almost ran over a squirrel. Unfortunately, he swerved and missed the squirrel. Nurse Boy does NOT understand the rules of the road while driving my van. (That's right. I said it. "MY van." Everyone else around here gets to say MINE all day long, why shouldn't I?)

I should start off by saying that it is a very well known fact that I, Mrs. Nurse Boy, HATE squirrels. Hate may not be a strong enough word for my true feelings about squirrels. My children think that they must protect the squirrels in our neighborhood from their vicious squirrel hating mom. They feel sorry for them. Meanwhile we must have 500, 000 of them living within a two block radius. About 100,000 of them call my three trees home. They wave at me, make faces at me, and even climb on my screen door and make noises at me. NO JOKE! The worst is when they climb on my roof and eat out of my gutters while smiling back at me, as if to say, "Ha, ha! You are providing food for me to stay alive." The best is when I find a dead one in my yard and I scream out to the others, "LET THIS BE A LESSON TO THE REST OF YOU!" No, I don't kill them. Really. I just dance on their graves.

So, my children know the rules of the road while mom is driving. I do not brake for squirrels. I do not slow down for squirrels. I do not swerve to miss squirrels. Those are the cold, hard facts. These are non-negotiable.

In all fairness, the children have negotiated a few things for the squirrels. I have agreed not to speed up for the squirrels or swerve to hit the squirrels (which I may or may not follow all the time).

I haven't hit one yet, but I am working on it. Every time the kids see a squirrel in the road, they hold their breath. As if that will save the squirrel's life. Maybe it has. Or they are all back there lifting that little squirrel up in prayer. Those little stinkers!!!

Nurse Boy isn't going to be driving my van if he can't follow the rules of the road. You might think it is harsh, but you would be on my side if you lived in my neighborhood.

Really, you would!

Fireworks

We went to see fireworks last night for the first time in about six years. They were very enjoyable. The kids did like them, but were not enthralled like I thought they might be. We went to a spot that seemed perfect. There were very few people around, so we did not have to feel too bad about our obnoxious kids. But, we did not escape the post fireworks traffic jam. Right when I was about to exclaim that we would not see fireworks for another six years, it came on the radio. It was a dance remix that blended two of the most sophisticated songs of my generation. They were Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice, and Nasty Boys by Janet Jackson. It had us rolling for about 15 minutes with lines like this:

Quick to the point like the point I'm making, cooking MC's like a pound of bacon... uh huh, I know... oh, you nasty boys.

The wife and I were laughing so much the traffic jam was more of a blessing. If you are wondering what the point of this particular blog entry is, it has to be that:

If this blog were a drug, I would sell it by the gram.

Ice Ice Nurse Boy

Too cold, too cold.

Research from the Peck Household

Researchers have shown that two out of two boys under the age of nine do not have the ability to flush the toilet in the Peck household. It is not yet known if this is a trait passed on by the Y chromosome. More information is needed to solidify this hypothesis. When these boys will gain the flushing ability is yet to be determined.

Man vs. Machine

So my dad is having open heart surgery and I ask my mom if there is anything she needs done around the house that is manly. She tells me that she would like the areas that she is going to plant flowers in the front of the house tilled. Sounds simple enough. So I go to the garage and pull out the tiller. The thing is huge. I fill it with the 50:1 gas that my father tells me to use. I then go to the start the thing up. I set the choke and pull the cord. Nothing. I prime it, pull it and nothing. Again and nothing. After about 50 pulls and a bruised hand from the pull string attachment I decide to read the picture instructions. I looks like there is a key. I go looking for a key and nothing. I then ask my father who is post op day one and he insists there is no key. I should look for the switch on the handle. So I go back and hold the gas down while I give it another 60 tries. Nothing. My pride is now damaged and I give up. Just then I put a few pieces of the puzzle together and I look for my dads snow blower. I can't find it. Do you know why?

Because it is the tiller.

Only it's not, it's the snow blower. This stupid city boy has been trying to till his mother's flower garden with the stinking snow blower. I'm just glad I didn't get it started. Anyway, I then drained the 50:1 fuel out of the gas tank of the regular gas snow blower and I found the tiller. It turns out the actual tiller is quite easy to start. It also turns out that I am a moron. That may not be news to you, but it's news to me. Nurse boy strikes again!

Approved and Unapproved Topics

It has been a little while since I have blogged. The wife has been trying to feed me topics to blog about and has also been telling me what I can and can't blog about.

My mom also has had some input. I am apparently not allowed to refer to the wife as my "old lady" anymore. My mom rarely puts her foot down about my behavior as an adult, so I will take heed to my mom's advice. From this day forward my old lady will be referred to as "the wife".

The wife told me that I can't blog about my middle child's recent barfing incident. This is an unapproved topic. I apparently have exhausted my bodily functions quota. But, I do have to throw this in... When all the barfing was done and the boy and I were assessing the damage, he points to the middle of the pile and says, "Look, I threw up a cricket." He apparently does not understand that in order for you to throw something up, you have to eat it first. As the clean up went on, he then says, "you have a few crumbs on your pants, Daddy". That was helpful. Depressing....madening....disgusting... and helpful.


Last night, on the way to church, the middle one says,
"Look, this finger is the biggest one".
Yes, son, people have shown me that before.
I'm just glad the windows are tinted in the back.


On to approved topics... The wife has instructed me to blog about dinner time. Our pastor once talked about how families need to spend time together at the dinner table every night. Studies apparently show that kids do better in school and do better in general if they spend one meal together a day. Logically, that is right on. I could never argue with that. I do think that family time is good.

For the kids.

But what about us parents? Is it really good for US? Putting us into a stressful situation where we are never appreciated unless we tell our kids to appreciate us. Is that healthy?

Here is a typical meal time at the home of Nurse Boy. Mom is finishing dinner when Nurse Boy gets home. Mom is dragging the girl back and forth on the floor from sink, to counter, to stove, since the girl is attached to one leg. One or both boys come in to say,"I'm hungry. What is for dinner?"

Mom answers "food". (That is a wonderful response that she picked up from her mom.) The wife uses it becasue she does not want to be criticized for her meal choice until she is at least done preparing it.

Nurse boy asks the obligatory, "Is there something that I can do," hoping that the answer is "NO". The answer is not "No". Nurse Boy then gets changed real quick. In an effort to help, Nurse Boy then takes the girl with him up to his room to change. Nurse Boy then prays that the girl is not scarred by seeing her dad in his underware on a daily basis. Or at least does not grow up thinking that is what a man's body is supposed to look like. The girl finds a book and brings it to daddy. Daddy starts to read it to her. Reading a children's book seems to difficult for Nurse Boy, so he makes up his own words.

The words "NOT HELPING", are broadcast from the kitchen. Nurse Boy then returns to the kitchen. Once the meal is done, the wife and I, (well, mostly the wife), prepare the kids' plates. From this point on one of two scenarios play out:


Scenario one is: the kids like the meal.
We set their plates in front of them. We then work on getting our meals. We tell the kids they have to wait for us to pray. The kids are not patient, but they usually only sneak a few bites. We sit down and pray. When the prayer is done, the kids dig in.

The wife then looks at me and says, "You got yourself silverware, and not me?" Oh, I get her some silverware.

As soon as I am seated the wife says, "You got yourself a drink and not me?" I then get the wife a drink. From the basement.

As soon as I am seated again, one of the kids wants more milk. Either the wife or I get them milk. As soon as we are seated the other kid wants more milk. As soon as we are seated again, the kids want seconds.

We then exclaim, "We have not even had firsts yet!" We get them seconds and then start to eat our cold meal.

Scenario two is: the kids don't like the meal.
This is the wife's favorite scenario.

The kids say "What is this?"

The wife says."You have had it before and you liked it then."

"What is that in it? That is chicken? I don't like chicken!"
If my kids did not like chicken, they would be dead. Our family is a strong supporter of the poultry industry. No, I do not want to know how the chickens are treated.

We then say, "You do like chicken."

The middle child then says, "I an not eating this", and has a frown bigger than the St. Louis Arch.

The oldest boy says "How many bites do I have to take?"

We respond "Just eat it, you'll like it." We finally tell the oldest he has to eat 6 bites and he has to eat all of his fruits and vegetables. The middle child says he took six bites. There is no evidence of food disappearing from his plate. We tell him, "No, you have to take six REAL bites." Through much cajolling, he finally chokes down six bites and then leaves the table.

The wife and I then eat our cold meals.

After the girl does not eat a single bite of the main course, we clean her up and remove her from the high chair. She then proceeds to find a six week old unrecognizable piece of food from under the refridgerator and eats it. (Maybe that was a cricket that the middle boy barfed.) The wife cries and I clean up the kitchen.

Through this is experience there is no noticable bonding. No strengthened family ties. Aside from the prayer, there is no spiritual growth. But, we will keep doing it every night because it is "good for the kids" I know that setting limits and rules will help with all of this, and we are tweaking the process. But right now, family meals are "good for the kids" ONLY. Yet, I still manage to get plenty to eat.

(Spell check does not appear to be working and my wife is not here to edit my punctuation, so you get to see what a bachelor's degree at Indiana University really gets you.)

I hate using lotion. I don't know why. I used to think that it was girly or something. I guess most of the lotion that I grew up around was scented and that is where I came up with that. It may be that in my teenage years my skin was so oily that if I used lotion my clothes would just slip off of me. My hair was thick then also, so I don't know why I did not think my skin would change too. So in the last couple of years my hands, face, arms and back have been getting so dry I can't stand to sit around in my own skin. So I have gotten by my pre-conceived notions about lotion and started using it. I just use whatever the old lady has around, so yes it is scented usually. Anybody got a problem with that?

I work with a lot of patients with liver disease in my line of work. If these patients have a blockage in their bile duct, or have end stage liver disease (ESLD), they develop jaundice. Most of you probably know that is when their skin and eyes turn yellow. Often people get this liver disease because of exposure to Hepatitis B or Hepatitis C. So I have to protect myself to try to prevent getting these diseases. Yesterday I noticed my skin looked a little jaundice. Just a hint. I deal with most health problems with a handy tool I like to call denial. My wife is a bit of a hypocodriac, so we are a great pair. When the kids are sick she is sure they are dying, and I think they should walk it off.

So the wife put lotion on my back last night since I can't stand wearing clothes anymore, due to my alligator skin. Nudism is not really an option for me, so I needed the lotion. About 6:00 a.m. my wife went to the bathroom and noticed that she had streaks on her arms. Then she realized that my lotion had self tanner in it. When she told me, I knew where my jaundice had been coming from.

Did I mention that I have been putting some lotion on my dry face?

So I now look like George Hamilton, and my hate for lotion has been renewed.

Nudism, here I come.

Nursery Boy

My wife is the director of the nursery at my church. That means that I have to work the nursery some, errrr, a lot! I enjoy it on Wednesday nights. Sunday is a different story. I listen longingly as praise and worship plays on the speakers on Sunday.

But that is not what this blog is about. This blog is about Wednesday night. I worked with another man tonight. He is my father's age. He is one of my role models, since he is amazing with the kids. He has fun with them, while at the same time he has expectations of them. Anyway, tonight was a big night. We recently changed the rules so we now have 18 months until age 4. The 3 year olds can go to preschool if they are potty trained and can sit through a lesson. Needless to say, we have a couple of three year old hold outs. One of them gets dropped off poopy 75% of the time. The kid is as big as Kevin James. I did not know they made size 40 diapers. I think they correspond with waist size. Anyway, this kid fights every time you change his diaper. I am not talking whining and kicking. I'm saying the kid moves like a ninja and has the power of a sumo. A sumo with poop in his thong.

Anyway, that is not what this blog is about either. This blog is about a little girl who does not like people she does not know. This girl is watched by a woman in our church. She does not want to be dropped off in the nursery. She typically cries and flintches from the workers until they get her child care provider out of pitty. Tonight, she was dropped off and we were told that she does not like men much and we should get a woman. First of all, that girl does not like people. And second, we should get a woman? Like we stash women in the back that we can tag out with when the going gets tough. Mr. Chuck and Nurse Boy are pro's, though. We don't need no stinkin' woman. Get a WOMAN? We had those ten kids forgettin they had parents tonight. The girl ended up having fun, and she even gave us five before the night was over. This from a girl who would hide in her hands if you said her name. So, the moral of this blog is: Women are overrated.

Peck Vocabulary

Chaos Jamie recently posted about her daughter's advanced vocabulary and it got me thinking about my own kids' advanced vocabulary. One word the boys often use is Bathower. Yes, this is so advanced you can't find it in most dictionaries. My kids don't like showers, the prefer the more traditional bath. To appease them, I take a shower with them, with the tub plugged. This would obviously be called a bathower. They will use this term like it is mainstream English with friends and family. That makes me happy. We will address the fact that I still take showers with the boys in therapy later, but not until then.

Another phrase that the boys feel is normal is a poop run. I ask the boys to make poop runs on a daily basis. The old lady thinks that when Sweat Pea poops you wrap it up in a plastic bag and throw it beside the front steps. Our trash is kept on the side of the house. The flies are fond of this system, but I am not. I don't know how the visitors and the neighbors feel because nobody has addressed it. I use the more sophisticated method of forcing one of the boys to take the diaper to the side of the house and put it in the trash can. I try to use the boys' need to compete with each other as motivation to acquire volunteers for this job. When this does not work I use threats of harm and loss of desserts. Today, I overheard Bruiser mutter under his breath "I hate poop runs". Again, that makes me happy. I'm not sure why, but it does. It reminds me of a conversation that I had with a kid at church who was about 10 years old at the time. I asked him if he knew what the Dewy Decimal System was. He did not, but about a half and hour later he slipped and fell on the playground and he muttered under his breath, "stupid Dewy Decimal".
So, my kids do not have a particularly advanced vocabulary, but they will end up with a different vocabulary, and they don't even know it.

On a different note, I have been looking to see if there are any job opportunities out there and I am coming across a problem. There is a job that is with a manager that I like and respect and could learn a lot from. The problem is the job is 40 minutes away in good traffic. It is also in a small hospital and I don't want to lose the excitement that the bigger medical center brings. It will be interesting to see if this is Gods plan for me.