Thursday, May 17, 2007

Imparting Fatherly Wisdom and Encouragement

This morning, my daughter tells me she's learning sign language. She holds up her index finger and asks me, "What does this mean?" I tell her it means "one". She then holds up her middle finger and asks me what that means. I tell her "Use your freakin' turn signal, asshole."
Wow. That could be my shortest post ever.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Welcome Fairen Nicole!

My daughter was born today at 1:30! Her name is Fairen Nicole, she weighed in at 10 pounds, 1 ounce, was 23 inches long and looks like a cross between her big sister and sumo-wrestling super phenomonon Akebono! She totally rocks and has already survived her first natural disaster, as a line of tornados ripped through the area seven hours after she was born. We spent an hour and a half in the hospital hallway while the carnage unfolded. Luckily, none touched down in our immediate vicinity, though there were a lot of BIG downed branches I had to drive around on the way home. Now everyone is doing great and there have been no complications.

Me, Fairen and her big sister
My oldest daughter is particularly tickled. She's wanted a sister forever and finally got one. My oldest son seemed more concerned about trying to get my wife in the room with the lazer beam. My youngest son still has no idea what's going on. He just knows that there are Bob the Builder trucks at the hospital.
And Sacto Ritch, send me an e-mail. Once again, I forgot to program your number into my cell phone last time I talked to you!

Monday, May 14, 2007

D-Day Approaches

Tomorrow, at 1:30, I will be a father yet again. I have been trying to come up with something to top what I did when my last one was born, but have come up with a severe case of writer's block. I need mojo, not for the baby since I am absolutely sure everything will go all right there, but for my writer's block to go away before its time to write up the announcement.
Mojo, announcement ideas, tips for screwing with my wife's head while she's on drugs are all welcome in this thread. I wish you guys luck. You'll need it for the chaos that is about to be inflicted upon each and every one of you once my next-born learns how to type.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Lip Service

So, me and my wife are sitting on the couch watching TV. I am on one side reclined, and my wife is on the other also reclined so if I tip my head slightly to the left, all I can see is the middle section of our couch. Now, we all know women have absolutely no respect for men’s television time and always feel the biological need to strike up a conversation when the show is getting good so it was no surprise to me when she wanted to talk about something at a time that I really did not want to listen to it. As a man, I have the supernatural ability to give my wife solid, believable responses to what she has said with having only the vaguest idea about what it is she was talking about. I’m pretty good at this and have had half hour long, deep conversations where I have no idea what was discussed though I can recite play-by-play the three 45 yard football drives that occurred during it.

So tonight’s conversation went something like this:

Her: So, what are doing? Packing?

Now, my wife is scheduled to give birth next Tuesday so I’m used to many of the hormonally illogical things that slip out of her mouth. With this in mind I answer:

Me: No, I’m not packing. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sleeping here to watch the kids while you’re in the hospital.

Her: Are you bringing a camera? And the stuff for the swingset?

Me: Why are you going to want the stuff for the swingset at the hospital? Are you talking in your sleep or something? Besides, your mother has wood stain at her house that she’s bringing up.

Her: You know, I have to get blood work done Monday at the hospital. If you’re here in time, you can go with me and see where everything is at.

Me: I’ve been there four times and pass it every day on the way to work. I know where the hospital is at. I told you, Monday is my last day at work for a while so I have a lot of stuff to do. I can’t go.

Her: I can be there anytime between 6:30 and 4:30.

Me: Sorry honey, but I can’t.

Her: (something mumbled and unintelligible)

Me: What? I can’t hear you.

Her: (something more mumbled and unintelligible)

Me: I still can’t hear you.

Her: (again, something mumbled and unintelligible)

Me: Look, if you want me to hear you, either speak up or turn the television down.

Her: Excuse me for a second, Mom.

She then leans forward, entering fully into my field of vision and I see the phone that she has pressed to her ear. She then says, “You know, it’s irritating enough when you don’t listen to what I’m saying and give me answers you won’t remember when I AM talking to you. It’s even more irritating when you do it when I’m NOT talking to you. Can you pay me some lip service in a different room please?”

Apparently, I’m not as good at watching sports through her as I thought.
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