Somebody must have told him the REAL truth

about the Tooth Fairy.

Tonight before dinner, The Talker got real serious and stated quizzing The Boss Lady about the Tooth Fairy. Then he decided that it just did not sound like such good idea to him.

"I want to make a sign for my door.

What should it say?

Tooth Fairy don't come into my room!"

After the sign was made on a small marker board, he decorated the sign for a little emphasis.

"So, Buddy, what did you draw on the sign?

Broken glass and wood splinters.

Why?

So that when she tries to walk into my room, it'll hurt her feet."

Damn. The boy is worried about booby-trapping his room to protect himself from nocturnal chicks who steal your teeth. And I am kind of at a loss, so please don't tell him that the Tooth Fairy can fly.

And for god's sake, don't tell him the Tooth Fairy leaves more than a quarter per tooth. 'Cause this Tooth Fairy ain't made of money.

It's just sad, really

I was just looking for a phone number. I found it in my cell phone, in a list of the 20 most recent outgoing calls.

The sad part, my list of 20 calls goes all the way back to the middle of last June. So it has taken me more than 7 months to make 20 calls. I. Am. A. Loser.

I should really quit talking to myself and start using up my cell minutes.

Maybe you had to be there

I just found a video from the day I got the truck started. That engine had not run in a dozen years. And The Talker was almost as excited as me.

Keep your eye on the bouncing boy.



He wiped out. Fell in the floor and hopped right back up to continue jumping on the seat. What the video does not show is me cracking up. Grinning because the truck is running and laughing at the boy falling off the seat.

What a good daddy I am!

Is there an echo in here?

"Guys, you know I am really tired of repeating myself. I asked you a question."

30 seconds of silence.

"Guys, why do I have to ask every question twice before y'all will answer?"

30 seconds of silence.

"What did you say dad? We were not listening to you."

"Uh, never mind."

See. It really is important for parent to be able talk to their kids.










Like I said...It really is important for parent to be able talk to their kids.

But everything else here is true, I swear!

He says with fingers crossed tightly behind his back.

I just re-read my entry about my wasted weekend and somehow, between my brain and the PUBLISH button, everything got sorta knocked outta whack.

Let me clarify.

The shed in the picture went to my neighbor's house in July of 2005. Thus the green grass. That stuff was soaking up about $90 a month in water. But it sure was pretty.

To set the record straight, here are a couple of pictures of the current state of our backyard.

If you look close, you can see the shed peeking from around the corner, in it's new hiding spot.
The grass isn't nearly as green, but at least it ain't covered in 87 feet of snow.

Here is one from Saturday. The start of another summer garden.

So there you have full disclosure. It isn't as green here as I led you to believe. But again, we can actually touch grass without digging with a snow shovel or hiring out a snow blower.

Now I am wondering how far would I have to go to rent a snow blower? Think I could get one in Oklahoma City?

I can't even nap right

The wife and kids got home this afternoon. I had a beautiful plan for the weekend. I only had one thing to do all weekend.

But the weather went and screwed it all up.

It was such a nice day on Saturday, that I ended up working in the yard all day. I moved our storage shed from up near the house to around the corner, mostly hidden from view. I got the shed a year and a half ago, from a stay at home dad friend. I never liked where I set it up, so this was a good weekend to move it.

Back then, this is the phrase I originally left out of this post. And without it the whole thing seemed to lose it's meaning... I gave my old one to a neighbor. My good ol' garden wagon made moving the little shed easy and it was oh, so classy when I rolled it across the street!


This time I just rigged up some 2X4 runners and I slid the newer, bigger shed across the back yard and into place. No pics of this move, though. The new shed is one of those vinyl shed, so weight was not a problem. The hassle was that it is 8ft square and 7 1/2 feet tall.

I also worked on the veggie garden for a while. I need to fence it off to keep a certain big white dog out of it, so I started putting in the fence posts today. Most of the winter I have been piling up leaves and grass clippings. I ran the tiller through all of that mess to get the garden soil into good shape. It was a lot of fun, since one tire went flat, and the tiller kept pulling to that side. I'll blame the tiller if my garden is a little tilted this year.

I also helped move and set-up some bunk beds moved for Other Dad's kids. It's always a good time, when 4 men and one boy try to work together to get 2 bunk bed sets moved. I think the 7 year old was more helpful than any of us.

Next week is the Daytona 500, so I'll try to get some napping done next weekend, before the start of the race.

As our Govenor once said:

Adios, Mofo.

The family is gone for a quick overnight. My allergies are driving me nuts, so this little piggy stayed home. Plans for the weekend include naps, sleeping, snoozing, resting and a little bit of nodding off while watching History Channel and ESPN.

See you Monday.

So, for now, from Austin, Texas, AtHomeDaddy signing off.

Look at what I can do

Oh no. The Talker just made me remember something stupid his old man did about 15 years ago.

"Hey dad, watch how fast I can drink this juice". And in one long draw on the straw it was gone. Then he hopped up, ran around the kitchen and asked for more juice, so he could try it "fasterer this time. Maybe we can race."

'Awwww hell no, boy'. The words that wanted to come out. "I don't think so". The daddy speak that I eventually uttered.

A little back story. 15 years ago. Working at a summer camp. The kids and staff all ate at giant tables, family style. Food had to be passed around the table, so that everyone would get their fill. No cafeteria lines here. And at the end of the meal someone, usually one staff member and one camper, had to get all of the dirty dishes and leftovers back to the kitchen. 'Slop tray duty'.

Lots of cabin leaders came up with charts and graphs to make sure every kid took a turn slopping the trays. For some reason, my cabin was never that organized. We usually settled it like the men and boys we were. Impromptu table top competitions broke out at every meal. All good stuff.

Who can burps the loudest.. Ready, set, BUUUUUUUUUUURP. Rock Paper Scissors to the death. Fastest to sing the ABCs. Who can gross out the girl's cabin over there the quickest?

The funny thing, was that it was a badge of honor in our cabin to slop a meal. Everyone else in camp knew that you were the best at whatever idiocy had broken around our table. You win, you heard the cheer "Hey, Hey, Slop Tray! The kitchen is thataway!"

So I challenged the kids to a milk drinking contest. But after slamming the milk you had to run out the door, go around the bell tower and be the first back to the table. A camper upped the ante. First one to win three laps, with a milk to slam in between, is IT.

Ready, set, guzzle!

On the third lap, I was heading around the bell tower as the nearest kid was just coming out of the dining hall. I was about to win! Look at me, everybody, I AM SLOP TRAY. FEAR ME!

Then it happened. I looked back over my shoulder, to pace myself so that the campers would be close enough that I could taunt them with my victory. When all of the sudden a 10 year old flew past me. I poured it on and almost caught him.

But then I barfed on him.

He won slop tray. But I don't think he wanted to win THAT bad.

I don't remember if he actually bussed the table that day. I think he headed to the cabin for a change of clothes and hopefully, a shower. But it was summer camp, so who knows.

I do remember him telling his mom and dad all about it wen they arrived a few days later to pick him up. This was a thing to brag about. He won slop tray. And got barfed on by a counselor, all at once. Yep. That was me. always making it special for the kids.

Sitting at lunch, watching my son jump up after slamming some white cranberry juice and wanting to run around the table, just made me want to hurl. Or maybe challenge him to a juice drinking contest.

The fire sale continues

No, I guess I won't list the kids on eBay. They were back to normal today. So they can remain here. (But I need to remember that Craig's List idea...)

The Big White Dog? Now he is in it. And deep.

The kids were well behaved at the grocery store this morning. So we stocked up on some stuff. I did not get it all put away before lunch time. Which is no big deal for most people. But if you have a Big White Dog who can grab things off of the counters or the top of the microwave, then you have to employ some high level strategy.

We have had dogs this large for a while, so I am usually a professional level dog-proofer. Or so I used to think. Kodak seems to be able to weasel into places that our other dogs never did. Like the breadbox.

So while the counters were full, the dog was in the yard and the back door was dead bolted, to keep the kids from accidentally letting him back in. Then the neighbor struck.

Our neighbor is a little odd. She also seems to need a lot of help from repairmen. She hardly ever comes out of her house. I guess paying appliance repair service calls provides her some socialization at $75 bucks a pop. Just this week I have seen an electrician, a plumber, the dog poop scooping service, the mobile dog groomer's, her pool cleaner and the maid service. Some times there are so many service trucks that they are double parked in her driveway.

The kids and I were playing in the front yard when the cable repair truck pulled up. The neighbor must have the worst cable line in town, because these guys were out last week, too. And every time they come over, they have to get into our backyard to work on Wonder Woman's connection. So I ran through the house to unlock the gate. Kodak saw his chance and headed in the house. I forgot about the haul in the kitchen.

An hour later I stepped back into the house and I saw it on his face. He was a guilty dog. I found remnants of a brand new package of tortillas, the really nice ones, since the kids were behaving in the store and I had time to choose. He also got a loaf of bread and a new package of hot dog buns. He had obviously tried to get the to the last of my Girl Scout cookies.

The kids were almost sold to the highest bidder for schmucking around yesterday. But they were smart enough to stay out of the Girl Scout cookies. Maybe I should give Kodak a reprieve since he did not ACTUALLY get the cookies.

I guess we will just have to get some taller shelves before next cookie season.

2 for one sale on pre-schoolers

Yesterday the kids drove me up the freaking wall. They quit fighting with each other long enough to whine and scream in the car, but that did not help. We tried to run some errands. I wanted to let them burn off some energy at the park or at the Y. We did not even make it out of the neighborhood before they were hauled back home.

Today I think they are spending most of the day in neutral corners. They both have enough toys to entertain scores of children. Plus, we have to go to the grocery store and they really like the Wednesday YMCA playgroup. Hopefully they can behave enough that we can make it off our street.

Otherwise, they go up on eBay tonight.

Bad Ground by W. Dale Cramer An AtHomeDaddy Review

Last month I sent up a review of Summer of Light, by W. Dale Cramer. And yesterday, when I was cruising Dad websites I happened across an add for the book. I was a little flattered to see that most of that review was published online on the authors website.

I woke up early this morning and remembered the whole stack of books I checked out at the library. Since bringing them home I have not touched any of them. I picked up the first one on the pile, another Cramer book, Bad Ground.

Like his newest book, Bad Ground was an easy read. This story follows Jeremy, a high-school dropout on a trek across country to find his estranged uncle, just days after his mother dies.

The scarred and tough uncle, appropriately nicknamed, Snake, has answers about the accidental death of Jeremy's dad ten years earlier. But it is up to the boy to get the hard rock miner to share what he knows. And through it all Jeremy has held onto a child-like faith that Snake sorely needs.

Though I have never been in a mine, the characters in this book all seemed very real. And I think there are a lot of days I have just as much in common with Snake, a burned and battle weary miner as I did with Mick, the Stay at Home Dad character in Summer of Light.

Next up, either another Cramer book, Levi's Will or John Grisham's The Broker.

"You look a little scared"

About a million years ago, on one of my first days staying at home with an 8 month old Talker, we walked up to the neighborhood park. I thought the exercise would do me some good. Turned out the boy liked to snooze in the jogging stroller, so it was a good combination.

When I got up there, it was the scheduled time for a Mommy and Me playgroup. Most of the families lived in the neighborhood, but I did not know any of them. A few knew me as the guy who had big white dogs. But I was not being drug down the street by Bill and Ben. I was now holding a baby boy. And he was a lot cuter than their ugly babies. So they were jealous of that.

I got a varied reaction form the moms. Most of them just carried on with mommy playgroup stuff. A few mommas looked worried that I was in the park at 9:00 in the morning. One actually moved her son away from The Talker when I set him down to play. And one mom told me "You look a little scared", then she introduced herself and a couple of her friends. We made chit-chat about kids and the neighborhood.

The kids and I got in the habit of going up to the park at that same time each week. The moms that I knew made me feel OK about hanging out at the weekly hen party. When we were there I was usually chatting up the ladies that I met that first afternoon. It was a nice chance for the kids to play and for me to talk to other adults.

Flash forward to 2007. We are now out of the habit of going to the neighborhood park. Instead we tend to hit the YMCA , play at home or we hang with the Stay at Home Dad's group.

Monday afternoon was gorgeous. 75 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. Take that Pittsburgh. So we headed to the park. In our t-shirts, shorts and sandals. Take that Long Island. Anyways, it seems that most of the neighborhood had the same idea. There must have been 45 kids at the park.

When I saw all of the cars at the park, I slipped back to five years ago. I was hoping that The Talker and The Princes would just be able to find someone to play with. After all of these years we were breaking into the secret mom's group again.

I looked up the hill and saw the same four ladies that I always hung out with. They were still chatting about the kids and the neighborhood. And the mom who had welcomed me almost 5 years did it once again. "You know, you still look a little scared." After that it was a very nice time. For The Talker, The Princess and the daddy.

Not until you are 21, son

There must be a need for it, but I can't figure it out. Here in town we have a barbershop called Sexy Scissors. Evidently you can go and get a haircut from a stylist wearing a low cut blouse AND have a brew all at once.

We drove past this place today. The kids saw the giant scissors with legs on the side of the building. They both decided they want to go there and get haircuts. But I think I'll defer to better judgement and make them stick with Barber Mommy.

We don't have to pay her nearly as much, and there is much less of getting them a haircut I'll regret because I had one too many beers while I was in the waiting area.

Just call me Daddy

Back when I posted about The Talker's nicknames, I started thinking about my own names and how they have changed over the years. Racecar Man once told his children, "You two kids are the only two people in the world who get to call me Daddy." So I'll start there and work backwards.

Daddy - I've only been one of those for 5 years and a few weeks. But off all the things I have been called, it seems to suit me the best. I only hear it from two people. And I seldom fall for another kid calling out "Daddy". It just does not sound right unless it comes from one of my own.

AtHomeDaddy - I picked it because all of the other blog titles I could think of were already taken on Blogger. The longer it is around, the more I like it and the more I use it online. Though I have yet to introduce myself in person to anyone as AtHomeDaddy.

Mike - My name, used by almost everyone, formal and informal acquaintances alike. It was on my business cards, but that was partially because the printer had a hard time spelling Michael correctly.

Michael - My big sister, one of my long time participants at the recreation center, and one of my mom's friends are about the only people left who call me Michael. When anyone calls me Michael, I think of these three ladies. Or I know I am in trouble. Some guys are Michaels. I am not. And I knew it when I first learned to spell my name.

Mikey - My college nickname from the one year I lived in a dorm. I still hear it from the few guys I keep in contact with.

Art Fag's Roommate - Another dorm nickname. I only lived with him for a semester. Oddly, he had given that nickname to himself. The gay guys in the dorm were lucky since he was actually straight. Which made the whole thing that much more confusing.

Duh Wayne - Mother's in law have to be good for something, right?

Stick, Sticky, Sticky Micky, Stick Man - It seems that no matter what summer camp I worked at, some variation of this followed me there. It started as a joke because I was so skinny (If only they could see me now!). This nickname gained new found glory one summer in northern Indiana after I almost cut off my thumb while I was showing some teens how to whittle on sticks. I still have my thumb. And the stick.

Red Fred - Apparently my family thinks I used to have red hair. They really need to re-check the old photos. I was always blond. And I used to fight you if you called me Red Fred. I killed that nickname when my lovely girlfriend bought me a really nice, red mountain bike. I stenciled his name right on the top tube. And once and for all, everyone knew who Red Fred was. Red Fred and my college girlfriend are both still around here, somewhere.

Michael, Michael Motorcycle - Like Red Fred, it would make me wanna fight. I don't really know why. Motorcycles are cool, right? And like Michael, I mainly heard this from my big sister.

Famous Amos - A neighbor and friend of Mom and Dad's called me this. Then a few other people at church picked up on it. You might think it would make me fight, but it always made me laugh. Probably because my sister never said it.

Tigger - No one, and I mean no one get to call me this any more, except my momma. Got it? My momma gets to do whatever she wants. She is old and cranky and still bigger than me and I am still scared of her a little. But Sticky Man is not scared of you! I do still have a pretty good collection of Tigger gear, though.

I am sure there are others. I don't really want to know what my teachers called me when they were smoking in the book room. And I am sure church group leaders had a few, choice names for me. But these are the nicknames that mattered to me. And only one of these really matters any more.

That one made it all the way to the top of my list.

I seem to do this a lot lately

I try to keep truck stuff off of this site. Makes it easier for me to remember where I posted stuff and a little less tedious for you guys. Still, I have posted a couple of times lately about stuff over on my truck blog. And this was just too good not to post on both.

So without any shame I present you a 2 for 1 blog post, straight from TruckinDaddy:

My college buddy reworked a picture of my truck. He took it from this:

to this:

When I showed the picture to my five year old son, he asked when we could take it for a ride. I think he was a little sad when he peeked into the garage and saw blue old Marge sitting there.

Thanks for the chop, Redneck Mother!

Sleeping like a dog

Kodak was asleep like this when I got up. I just walked into the bedroom and he is still laying feet up, over an hour later.

Oh look, Sleeping Stinky is awake. Just so you get some idea of how much stink this guy can contain, here is another pic.


I better go vacuum up some dog hair.

Wasted weekend

I spent all day yesterday and a good portion of the afternoon today under the truck. If you care, you can read about that stuff over there.

Surely I did something else. But right now I am just so happy to have a truck that doesn't leak, I can't remember anything else from this weekend.

Well, there was the argument with the wife, but that is a little too personal to blog about. Even though I won.

A peek back

Long Island Dad got me looking back into the photo archives for one of my favorite pics this morning. Then I couldn't stop. Enjoy the peek into the family history.

See, we did get some snow here. Once, about three years ago.

This is the picture that I started out looking for. Our Helper, helping build the playscape.

Smile!

Another of my all time favorites. Playscape building day.

Yes, she is standing in a rocking chair.
And yes, I grabbed a camera before I rescued her from breaking herself.

A captive audience for some easy laughs.

Don't know where we were going, but I bet we were having fun!

I'm not sure which is louder

Pop's tractor or the shirt...






















Sadly, this is the best picture I could find of my best orange Hawaiian shirt.

Follow the blue trail home

We made the cruise home yesterday afternoon. I drove and we never stopped. You gotta love a DVD player in the back seat. The kids will give up potty breaks and snacks to watch a movie in the car. They had a fun time entertaining Dad and Mom on our whirlwind trip.

We headed to the mall last night, to shop for clothes for me. One of my least favorite things in the world. Let's face it, I only have to dress a little nicer than a college kid on his way to class one day a week. For about 3 hours total. Still, I have been wearing the same 3 or 4 shirts to church every week for about a year (maybe more, I don't really care). But The Boss Lady knew about a 75% off sale so I gave in.

So now my wardrobe is a few steps closer to being fully monochromatic. Not really on purpose, but the clothes I picked out were all blue shirts and tan pants. Just like almost everything else in my closet. Except for the orange and black Hawaiian shirt with huge white flowers on it that I have been expressly forbidden from wearing to church. Some say it is because it is ugly, others say it is because I bought it at the grocery store when I ran to get milk and bread. It spoke to me, OK.

I digress. The rest of my shirts are either blue or green. I was going to try and diversify the collection, but no dice this trip. I think I'll wear a blue shirt and tan pants to church on Sunday. Think anyone will notice my new clothes?

I bet they would notice my orange Hawaiian shirt.