Tag: Dad Blog

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Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States

How Not to Spend Your Evening

WildwoodGenerally speaking, I’m happy with my Homeowners Association (HOA). Having moved from an older neighborhood with absolutely no neighborhood standards, I have no problems with rules such as,

“Garbage cans must not be put along the curbside prior to 6 p.m. the day before pickup and must be removed from the curbside by 8 p.m. the evening of pickup.”

Rules are OK, when they are logical and when they are evenly enforced.

Every year we have our HOA meeting and last year, though it was abysmally boring, they at least served beer and wine and kept everyone from getting too annoyed with the 2.5 hours it took to listen to each Committee chair.

This year, in the announcement for the meeting, the President of the HOA made it very clear that they were going to try and limit each Committee head to a five-minute presentation in an effort to keep things moving along.

So, I cooked an early dinner, ate, and then headed down while CareerMom stayed home with the boys.

When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was, “Hey, no beer!” And I wasn’t the first to notice either. It seems that a Georgia law was passed that says non-profit Corps (which our HOA is) cannot serve alcohol during meetings. So, even though we are just a bunch of homeowners sitting around a clubhouse, because we are technically part of a non-profit, we can’t drink.

Wow! What a worthwhile law.

Anyway, things were going smoothly until some woman stands up and–get this–makes a motion to abolish the $5 charge that any resident who plays in the local tennis league (using our courts and others to do so) must pay.

$5!  Let me say it again…$5.

Would you believe that her complaining, and our HOA president’s explanation of why this charge is necessary, went on for 45 minutes!

By the time it was over, I was about ready to go home, pour myself a drink and walk back down for the remainder of the meeting!

But finally she shut up and we voted the very same incumbents in that have been there forever because nobody else wants to be the target in the front of the room for stupidity such as this women had just shown, and THEN, once we had adjourned with a very official-sounding, “Yes, I second the motion to adjourn” agreement, we were allowed to drink.

But by then it was 9 p.m. and I needed to get home. Man, what an enjoyable night outta the house. Tonight, CareerMom’s youngest sibling graduates from High School, so while she goes and celebrates, I’ll be home with the kids. I could go with her and drag the boys, but I’d just end up watching them anyway, and at least tonight the swim team (for which residents pay $85 for each child on the team) doesn’t have practice and we can get in before 7 p.m.

Hooray for me!

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood

What’s next? Nudist camp?

flutter I can’t believe I’m about to jeopardize my creative integrity, but I feel I must. I’m about to devote an entire blog to butter. Well, fake butter (futter) actually, but in my dietary world where the war against fat is a constant, futter IS butter.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve eschewed real butter thanks, I’m sure, to some public service announcement in my youth telling me how bad all that butter is for my arteries. Course, they also said that about eggs, and I consume probably a dozen and a half eggs (mostly just the whites) each week for the protein content and last time I checked, my resting heartrate was about 52 bpm, so take that state of Alabama!

Anyway, my futter of choice has been “Country Crock” for years and years. Considering we never really slathered our food with much butter growing up, my taste for Country Crock came more from a “can’t miss what you never had” background moreso than out of any love for the actual flavor. Country Crock has always come in this big tub and even with my family of four now, it usually lasted nearly two months.

But the other day when I went to the grocery store to pick up a few items, futter included, I couldn’t find my usual tub of futter and instead, there was this half-sized container of Country Crock futter proudly proclaiming, “Now with Omega Plus.”

Omegas? That’s the nutrient you get from fish right? I mean, isn’t that the big secret weapon in salmon and tuna and all those wild Alaskan swimmers we hold so dear? Well, I’m not sure what fish oil would taste like in futter, but I’m game. So, I purchased a container and sure enough, it tasted just like my old Country Crock.

But thing is, the container is about 2/3 the size of the original and guess what? Yep, it’s the same price!

Well, fool me once and all, I decided that the next time I needed futter, I’d break out of my 20 year rut and try a different brand, so I picked up a full-sized tub of “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” figuring anything that’s been around at least as long as my Country Crock has got to have something good going for it.

OMG! What I can’t believe is that people believe the name! This is quite possibly the nastiest surprise I’ve put in my mouth since my brother and his friend convinced me that giant mushrooms growing wild in the woods are tasty and delicious!

It’s so bad, it has me reconsidering just how bad REAL butter can actually be. I mean, it’s all natural right? My mom believes that all the processed food we eat is making everyone sick and while I actually tend to agree with her to a certain degree, I also don’t see me whipping out the Fry Daddy and cooking up a batch of fried chicken and french fries just because canola oil comes from…Canolas? Come to think of it, where does Canola oil come from?

So I am torn, I will admit. I’m torn between feeding my kids something that might clog up their arteries, but which is probably not going to give them cancer, OR I can keep feeding them a low fat butter substitute and pray that their consumption level doesn’t approach that of those poor lab rats with IVs in their veins that have futter dripping through them 24×7.

But if I go down the all natural path, I’m going to have to do some serious fridge cleaning out.

Do you all eat the fake stuff or is your family au naturale (with food I mean)?

(Later: As if I needed another reason to not like Country Crock anymore; I went to their Web site to leave a complaint and their input screen will not let you use apostrophes. Which means “no contractions.” What kind of grammar-Nazi’s are they? I suspect they do it to frustrate users into NOT leaving complaints, but I’m a writer and crap like this fuels my bravado!)

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood

Hollywood, is not America…(ripped off Blessed Union of Souls new song)

hollywood stars I’m considering changing my nickname for MLI because he’s really starting to come into his own. He’s still not “out there” when it comes to new situations, but when he’s around his homey’s, he’s quite the little leader.

And I got to thinking this morning, based on their personalities today, what if I were to compare my two boys to any movie character, who would they most resemble? I think it will be interesting in about 15 years to look back and see if they’ve changed all that much and if so, how.

So, without further ado, I present my lil’ fellars as Hollywood characters:

MLI = The Wizard of Oz!

I know, I know, it’s kinda hokey but lemme explain! MLI is bright, energetic and just a tad on the eccentric side. In the words of the trampy cocktail hostess in Swingers, “…he’s the guy behind the guy…”

MLI will probably never be a Fortune 500 CEO, but not because he doesn’t have the brains for it. More like, I’ll never be able to afford the Ivy League business school that’s required. No, MLI will be the quiet power broker working the deals behind the scenes. He’ll be the Karl Rove (with more hair) of whatever endeavor he throws himself into. And if people don’t like it, he’ll slip on his Batman costume and bust some caps!

MLE = Bodhi from “Point Break”

I’ll admit that this is just a little bit of me wanting to live the super-cool surfer life and I think MLE and his blonde hair and his “Dude, whatever! It looks like a rush so let’s do it!” attitude would fit the bill nicely. MLE can charm the pants off anyone and could probably hold up a bank with his smile alone. If he can just work off that baby fat belly and get those oh-so-sexy washboard abs, he’ll put even Swayze (in his younger days) to shame!

So I thought this was fun and I know most of my readers have kids, so why don’t you either blog about your kids or leave me a comment about them and tell me which movie character they most resemble, and why!

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Life in these United States Marriage

It’s that craaazy time of year again!

birthdayEach year around this time, I go into scramble mode for gifts. With Mother’s day falling usually on or around my birthday, it’s easy to forget that there’s other stuff going on–like CareerMom’s birthday! (she’s older than me by three days) And when you have kids, it doubles your responsibility.

For example, instead of just getting her a birthday card and present, I instead need:

  1. A card for her birthday (from me)
  2. A present for her birthday (from me)
  3. A card for Mother’s day (from me)
  4. A present for Mother’s day (from me)
  5. A card for her birthday from the boys
  6. A card for Mother’s day from the boys
  7. Some kinda somethin’ from the boys for her

It’s a wee bit crazy all the things I have to get done by early May. I’m still not sure what to get her from the boys for Mother’s day. I know the idea is to get the kids to do something, but I don’t have that kind of time without her here to do it and anyway, the last time I tried, I ended up doing it myself thanks to that zero attention span thing kids have.

But what I really don’t like about this time of year, is the inevitable contemptive vibe I get from women whenever I venture into a greeting card store. You can almost feel it oozing out of the other customers and the ladies hovering around. It never fails that someone asks if they can help me and it’s all I can do not to say, “Um, I’m looking for a card! DUH!” (Here’s your sign!)

But this year took the cake.
Let me set the stage:

I walked into the Hallmark store, because last year I did Target and ended up spending like $4 for some generic card anyway and I figured I might as well get a name-brand one for the same money. Anyway, I was one of the only people in the store and after waving off the ever-so-helpful worker-bee, I finally found several cards that weren’t too sappy, but had enough truth and love to them to be keepers.

As I walked over to the counter, one lady was off to the side straightening things up while another lady, presumably the manager, stood behind the counter talking to her:

Manager: Has it been busy?

Worker-bee: Eh, it’s come in waves.

Manager: It always does.

I walk up and say, “Here comes a small wave,” which elicited chuckles from both.

Now, as I went to put my cards up on the counter, there was a bottle of Windex sitting there and the worker-bee rushed over to move it like it was a copy of “Playgirl” magazine that, if I saw it, might scar me for life. Attempting to put her at ease I said, “Don’t worry, I’ve seen that kind of thing before.”

And she says…

“Have you just seen it, or have you actually used it?”

When I was in the 10th grade, I had this vile woman for an English teacher. Her name was “Mrs. Davis.” The things that came out of this woman’s mouth were astonishing. Once, after she said something snide about my parents in front of the class, I actually called this woman out on the front porch and gave her a tongue lashing such as most 10th graders can only dream about giving a teacher. Since she knew she was in the wrong, and in front of 30 witnesses, I knew I could get away with it.

Suffice it to say, I have a hard time holding my tongue. And it took everything I had not to let this woman have it. Instead, I just said, “No, I’ve used it quite a few times. In fact, more than my wife.”

And I took my stuff and walked out of the store.

Looking back, I wished I HAD said something a little more barbed, but then I probably would have just earned myself some bad juju and I don’t need anymore of that right now.

But couple this woman’s attitude with the fact that I didn’t even get any gold stars for my envelopes and I just may have found enough reason to never visit Hallmark again!