Tag: Roswell

Categories
Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States Society

Do you see that you’re wasting my time?

image I sit at a computer all day and work. That’s my job. Sometimes I think that maybe it would be fun to be outdoors working, but then I have to dig a 10-ft drain line in the back of my house and I realize what a crap-job that must be, day in and day out, and then I’m grateful that I can work on my butt, in climate control 365 a year.

Lately, I’ve been getting little headaches while working. This happened a few years ago, which prompted my first set of eyeglasses. The prescription is really minor, but it helps immensely. Thinking perhaps it was time for a checkup, I made an appointment with my eye doctor.

I walked in one afternoon last week and strolled up to the front desk. There was a lady sitting there who gave me the vaguest of glances and went back to what she was doing. No stranger to this “appointment” process, I signed my name and went and sat down, assuming that someone would call me to come fill out some paperwork.

There were a few other people waiting and in a few minutes a very young girl came out to wait with them, and then was taken back again to have her eyes dilated.

Still I waited.

After about ten minutes, a lady walked in the front door. I knew her from a place called “Massage Envy.” Last Christmas (2007), CareerMom signed me up for a “Massage a Month” with this place. What you do is, join their little service thingy, and for $50 per month, you get a massage. It’s still expensive, but when you consider a massage elsewhere runs $65-$80, it’s not so bad. Anyway, I had several problems with appointments there; the last being that I had walked in–much as I’d done here at the eye doctor–signed in and then sat there for 25 minutes before finally asking, “Hey, where’s my masseuse?” Turns out, they’d just forgotten I was sitting there, which was funny considering they could all see me. They tried to get me to come on back, but I made up some story about how they’d completely fu-barred up my schedule and how I didn’t have time now! It was the point of the thing by then see.

So yeah, I showed my ass a little that day.

Anyway, the lady working the massage place that day, was the one who had just walked into my eye doctor’s office. She signed in and within minutes was taken back, helped, and sent on her way.

After about 25 minutes, I finally got up and walked to the front desk and asked, “How far behind are we running today?” This brought a questioning glance from another lady who asked if I’d signed in. I picked up the sign in sheet, pointed to my name, which by the way, was the last one on the sheet, and said, “Yep. Says so right here.”

Turns out, they too had “forgotten” I was sitting there.

So yeah, I showed my ass a little that day…too.

But I tell ya what, the next time this lady from the massage place shows up ANYWHERE else that I’m at, I’m leaving immediately because her being there at the same time can only mean that I’m about waste at least 20 minutes of my life.

Should I be more assertive? HA HA HA HA!

By the way, I did need new glasses. So, here’s to aging!

Categories
Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Life in these United States Marriage

Picture Phone Phriday!

01-13-09_0806 MLI brought this little booklet home from pre-K, and I swear, every time I see it, I chuckle a little on the inside.

Yes, I’m 35.

No, I’m not completely a grown up yet.

Clearly, I’ve looked at been exposed to too much online porn!

And since I used “online porn” in this post, it is surely to be my highest viewed one to date.

That’s kinda sad.

Categories
Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Life in these United States Marriage

More riveting “parental” stuff

There are many things, parentally, I find distasteful. For instance, the disposal of the past week’s Diaper Genie collection, yuck! Finding three-day-old milk bottles under the couch and trying not to gag while cleaning it…the worst! I mean, there are just some things about parenting that are not pretty.

And then there are things about parenting that probably don’t bother most people, but which bother a very small segment of the population. For me, it’s bathtime. In the beginning, I’ll admit that it was cute watching the boys together in the bathtub. They splashed. They laughed. They played together. It was fun. But that got old after like, a week. Now the two fight over who gets to sit in the front of the tub where all the hot water is. They argue over the few meager bath toys that we can find that, when you remove them from the tub, don’t drip water for the next ten hours. And of course, there is the “Hey, I’m naked and I have this thing between my legs!”

I’m sure I need not elaborate.

Suffice it to say that in any given week, if I can cajole CareerMom into giving the boys a bath, I will happily clean the dishes, feed the dog, paint the house…whatever…as long as I don’t have to give the boys a bath. But of course, this is not always feasible, so at least twice a week, I do it.

Over the years, we have tried out a number of bath toys in an effort to get them to stay in the tub, thereby using up precious evening time. Time that we don’t have to spend trying to find something else to keep them occupied with. So we’ve bought pirate ships and boats, floating Thomas the Tank Engine trains and duckies. Heck, I’ve even dumped in the boys’ Transformers.

For some reason though, CareerMom keeps buying Bath Paints. If you’re not familiar with them, they look like this:

image

So, the kids sit in the bath and they squeeze this paint out and I guess it supposedly helps them creatively.

Whatever…

What I’ve found instead, is that the kids, rather than using the paint sparingly to create their own personal Renoir; instead, they squeeze out huge, oozing gobs of it that run over the side of the tub, down the tub wall, and spread out across my white tile floor.

Oh and it stains the grout. Yeah, it’s great like that.

CareerMom purchases these things about once every 6 months and each time, it plays out the same way:

Scenario:

La dee dah, the boys are in the tub.
“Daddy, can you get the bath paints?”

“Yes,” I say, “But now you know the rules. Make sure it doesn’t run down the outside of the tub. Keep the paint INSIDE OK?”

“OK,” they agree; their eyes lighting up as I open each bottle of paint just enough for their little hands to squeeze out a tiny dollup.

Meanwhile, I get involved in something else in one of their rooms.

“You boys OK in there?” I ask from the other room.

“Yes!” they holler.

I fiddle some more; perhaps checking the weather on the computer. Finally, after a while I drift back into the bathroom and (insert music from the bathtub scene from “The Shining”) ARK ARK ARK — There is paint everywhere! It’s in huge puddles on the edge of the tub and it’s running down the sides and it’s (GASP!) on the tile and in the grout!

Now, onlookers will tell me that at this point, I lose it. I’m not sure what happens really…it’s all a little fuzzy. But what I do know is that by the time the red haze in my eyes has disappeared and I can think straight again, the bathroom sink is full of bubbly paint colors and empty paint bottles from where I’ve poured them all down the drain. Both boys are sitting in the tub, their little spiked hair punctuating the shell-shocked look of panic on their face as they cringe away from my gaze. And I’m panting like I’ve just run a mini-marathon. My heartrate is spiking and I have a sudden desire to join the World Kickboxing Federation and beat the ever-loving crap out of some punk just to say I can!

Oh, I might also mutter, louder than necessary for anyone who “might” be listening, “I don’t know why your mother keeps buying this stuff! It’s the same thing each time! You boys cannot play with this without making a huge mess.”

After some time, and some deep, cleansing breaths, I realize how crazy I’ve acted and I recall how, after my Adopted Mom walked out on our family a mere two years after adopting my brother and me, and after my dad remarried, that I was playing outside one day and got all muddy. Now, this wasn’t something a child was supposed to do according to my Adopted Mom. Her idea of a child was one that stayed perfectly clothed and clean throughout the day on the off chance that the Mother of the Year Foundation happened to drop by to see what kind of a job she was doing.

Getting dirty was liable to get a pointy nailed finger down your throat (don’t ask!). Anyway, I remember how, upon realizing how filthy I was, I pulled a Ralphie from “A Christmas Story” and made up this crazy lie about tripping in some muddy water. Then I stumbled into the house sobbing hysterically and sought out my step-mother so I could try and ameliorate any repercussions with a preemptive storyline. And I remember how, after seeing me and seeing how distraught I was, she calmly proclaimed, “Sweetie, kids are supposed to get dirty and make messes. This is what you do. Now go get cleaned up.” And with that, she gave me a big hug and sent me on my way. God bless her!

I try to remember this with my kids, even as the Adopted Mom part of me wants to flip out and do unspeakable things. Most of the time, I’m successful, except when the mess is semi-permanent and costs me money (and time) to fix. So yet again, another $4 in bath toys, literally down the drain.

Now, I know I can’t be alone in this. Anyone else have an irrational reaction to a perfectly rational kid-activity?

Categories
Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States

Insane in the membrane…(insane in the brain!)

social anxiety Every now an then I have a little cathartic moment–a revelation about myself, if you will. It’s surprising that at 35 years of age, I’m still learning about myself, but it’s true. Perhaps I’m not so much learning something new, so much as I am realizing it. Kind of like realizing that, without knowing it, every time CareerMom forces me to watch a movie with the likes of Brad Pitt, Will Smith or some other Hollywood hunk in it, when the “shirt off” scene finally appears, I’m scrutinizing his body as much as I would a woman’s, to see if he’s lost some muscle mass since his last shirtless film. Or whether being a dad has put a few more speedbumps on his chiseled form. Whatever, I just want to know if I’m holding up as well as he is. Most of the time, I’m disappointed.

But anyway, this past weekend, I discovered something else. For a few precious moments, I escaped from the whiney kids went out to run some errands. Somehow I ended up at Trader Joe’s. I don’t go there often because, while the place is great, it’s really geared for the person who buys food for the day; unlike myself, who bulk shops for groceries whenever possible.

We’ve been all a little blah around here lately, so I grabbed some fresh flowers and some nice Black Tea and headed up to the counter. I stood in line a couple of minutes as the shoppers in front of me chatted up the checkout guy. Finally it was my turn and I handed him my little basket and with my usual “eye avoidance,” I sidled over to the debit card reader. But, instead of just quietly bagging my stuff and letting me go, the checkout guy started talking to me.

“Oh, nice flowers. Great for a day like today.”

“Hmm, yeah they are nice,” I said.

“I’ve been wanting to try this stuff too, but it’s certainly a side dish and I’ve been waiting to find the right meat to have with it,” he said, referring to some spicy rice thing I’d picked up.

Quickly, I replied, “I’m going to have it with that Carne Asada steak. Should go well.”

I hoped that would end the conversation but it didn’t. And as we continued to speak, it occurred to me how much I dislike this banter. Not only does it make me terribly uncomfortable, but anyone who is this happy and perky, makes me suspicious.

Now folks, I have long known that I’m a “Glass is half empty” kinda guy, but this takes it to a whole new level. I mean, what kind of person looks for ulterior motives in someone who is being nice? I tell you what kind…the kind that clearly has issues.

Don’t get me wrong, I can, and do, act normal around other people. But most of the time, I have this internal monologue that’s saying, “RUN, FLEE! DO NOT LOOK THEM IN THE EYES OR THEY’LL SEE WHAT A FRAUD YOU ARE.”

Is that normal? I didn’t think so. And the dumb thing is, as much as I long for adult interaction, when I actually get it, I want to withdraw from it. Yeah, so I’m not OK, you’re not OK, the whole world is kinda weird.

Line forms to the left.