kid-speak

Not only do kids say the darnedest things, but they also sometimes say the greatest things. This post is more about those darnedest things.

Example 1 was just moments ago. The boys are eating lunch, peanut butter and orange marmalade sandwiches. Big Brother eats his sandwiches in layers, peeling off the top slice of bread to eat first, then proceeding down through whatever toppings there are. With the pbj, there are no layers of course, so he eats it jelly side first then peanut butter side. I'm a little anal, so the peanut butter has to go on the bottom slice of bread.

Big Brother opened his sandwich and asked if that was honey on the bread. We've eaten a fair amount of pb and honey sandwiches lately because I've been lazy about scraping the multiplying jelly jars. I told him no, that it was orange marmalade, to which he replied with a shout, "OH YES!"

The Boy's humorous utterances lately are all the fault of Thomas the Tank Engine books. We haven't even read the books much lately and haven't had to watch videos several times a day lately either. The track pieces have been put away for some time, though put away just means in a clothes basket off to the side. A few of the engines are always floating about.

Lately, The Boy has been speaking as if life were all one big Thomas book. I asked him one day recently if he was okay, just randomly checking his well being. Me: "How are you doing?" The Boy: "Fine, said Thomas." Earlier today I asked him if he wanted a treat, and he answered, "Yes, said Cranky."

And now to add the freshest, even fewer moments ago. The boys are currently behind me trying to do handstands. Big Brother has been working at this for some time. The Boy wasn't doing well, so Big Brother gave him this advice, "You have to throw your hindquarters in the air."

If you read this and have kids, even if you never comment or seldom comment, you are now required to comment and leave a humorous phrase your child has uttered. Get to it now! All kids say funny things.

the neighbor kid

Our neighbors across the street are a seemingly nice family. I've never had any issue with them or their kids. Their dog is a little noisy and freakish, but that's a dog for you.

The kids, a boy and a girl, are older than my kids. I'd guess that they are probably both in the 12 to 15 range. I'm also not good at guessing ages, but I know neither of them drive yet.

So back to the neighbor kid, the boy, who I'd put at about 12 or 13 years old. He's getting his workout in for the day apparently. He's holding two small hand sized dumb bells above his head and running up and down the street.

I know it's only slightly humorous, and I certainly shouldn't make fun of the kid, even if he looks funny. Mostly it just looks really awkward. It looks like an exercise that someone made up so that he'd look funny as he ran.

apostrophe

Earlier tonight I began writing but got stuck when I tried to use the apostrophe. Each time I pressed the key I got some sort of search bar appearing at the bottom of the screen. I didn't take the time to check it out and figure out what it was. I did check around the Blogger help menu, and I didn't find anything about it. I ended up closing window I think, and I never figured out what the problem was. I'm certain that whatever it was it's now gone. And considering the damn thing now works, I'm quite certain I might never know.

I'm sure whatever I was writing was a rant. Honestly, some days I can start any number of posts that don't end up being finished. I generally start an early proofread and realize that I'm off by a few degrees or am sounding like a jackass.

Don't be fooled here. I'm not at all afraid to sound like a jackass. I'm seriously okay with it. I would however like to at least seem as though I have a clue what I'm talking about. Sometimes I write shit that is actually too twisted and ranty even for me.

And all this now is because of that damn apostrophe. Oh how I now hate it. I can't help but expect the same treatment each time I need to indicate either possessive tense or a contraction, so I'm a little gunshy with my punctuation. And it's not so easy to not use the apostrophe, and you can believe that I spent a good minute and change thinking of ways to rewrite things so as not to need them. And try typing apostrophe a few times. That's about to send me straight into the beer.

But, I got a damn blog out of it. I've created more guilt for myself because I'm so dry and devoid of ideas that I made an entire post of the most ridiculous of topics. I've made a mole hill out of an ant fart. But I've done something.

YEA ME!

Becks in the US?

Found this interesting tidbit at Soccerway.com. It seems David Beckham is wanting to end his career here in the US. He already has a soccer academy in CA somewhere.

I'd love to see it happen personaly. We're are slowly becoming a real soccer nation which I see as beneficial to us in regards to how we are perceived throughout the world.

The World Series, other than one or two Canadian teams isn't anything more than a national celebration of a game, and the same applies to pretty much every other American sport. Why do we presume to call all of our sport championships world championships when in fact, most of the rest of the world doesn't even care?

Soccer on the other hand is the one truly international sport. With the coming World Cup in Germany, we have a chance to see what is truly a world championship event.

If you'd like to see your men's team, tonight, 4/11/06, they are playing Jamaica. The game will be aired on ESPN2 at 7:00 et. I'm skipping out on roller skating to stay home and watch this.

in their little bow ties

We'll begin today with my reasoning behind why I refer to the Nation of Islam as the bow tie nazis. Having grown up in Atlanta, I'm very familiar with the sight of, on random street corner, the small group of black men, usually in grey suits but always in bow ties. They always look so sharp standing there, ready at a moment's notice to approach the passersby with a copy of The Final Call. I'm guessing it's still the same paper. But why Nazis? Out of dozens of times that I've been sitting at an intersection peopled by NofI members, I have only once in my life been offered my own copy of The Final Call. The one copy I was offered was in Charlotte where Momma and I lived for a while. That was probably the one time I saw them in Charlotte. What made me different from the drivers that do get offered the paper?

I saw some more of the bow tie nazis (btn) yesterday. It was sort of refreshing, escpecially when I got that old look that I remembered so well. All it takes is for them to peak at my white face staring back at them, and they calmly step back onto the sidewalk and turn to each other. These guys were different though.

In Atlanta, I was used to seeing the btn regularly. Growing up in south Dekalb, you get used to being the only white person at the grocery store or the library. The btn were always young adults, possibly college students. Yesterday however, they were all 10-14 in my estimation. They wore the suits and the little bow ties, and they looked so adorable. One little boy held a megaphone, though he didn't use it while we were at the intersection. Additionaly, several of them carried pies in what looked like grocery store type packaging.

It isn't that I mind being snubbed. Honestly, I can take it, especially in light of our country's history regarding race relations. As well, religiously based racism even seems different to me than just outright ignorant asshole racism. Being from the South, I'm well aware of both. And while there is no difference in the evilness of either, the difference isn't there to discern between levels of evil so much as to suggest that some things are different for how they get there. This also gets back to being raised a certain way only to grow up and find that you are fighting with yourself over ideas that clash based on a grown up awareness versus childhood indoctrination.

I digress, so we'll get back to the story.

I was once again snubbed for my whiteness. This time, while still humorous, it was different because these were kids. They haven't yet had a chance to confront life as it is. I imagine the NofI to be similar to any other cult in that the kids don't know any different, are not at all aware of what "the world" truly is and what it truly means and holds for them. Many of these kids may never leave the NofI, just as many kids will never leave the JW's or the Baptist church, though many kids will. And full on indoctrination in the church only prepares kids to stay there and not for a real life in the real world.

I just realized that I'm making the old "S" word arguement against religion, which isn't what I mean to do. I can understand that parents are going to teach their kids their religion and want for their kids to grow up and stay true to that religion. I plan to teach my kids my own views on life. But I can look back to what I thought of "the world" as I grew up only to find myself questioning all I'd ever been taught. When I finally moved out and was really on my own, life wasn't so black and white as I'd been taught. Every didn't fit into either good and christian columns or bad and nonchristian columns. In fact no one person fits in any one column. Some christians lie and some atheist don't.

So as I watched the youngsters, the next gen of btn, I laughed and thought to myself that I was missing one more copy of someone's religious propaganda. That thought was closely followed by the thought that these kids, so young, already knew that if you checked, you wouldn't have to waist the steps if the car held white people. I don't feel hurt or offended nor do I care. I know that if a group of black men or boys occupy a street corner and are wearing neat suits and little bow ties, they don't want my white ass to get a copy of their paper. I'm sure I'm the devil, possibly Jewish and responsible for some of their misery.

pictures?

The first picture is Big Brother and Momma, while on the sofa are me and The Boy. He doesn't really play guitar, or should I say that he plays as far as he's concerned. I just realized that, though these pictures are a few months old, I'm actually wearing that same tshirt today.

pictures

I'm going to have to work to get an early picture of myself. I'm pretty sure that I don't have any, though there are plenty in Atlanta at my parents' house. That means that I will have to either talk my parents into scanning and emailing or sending via snail mail. There is a small chance that I will have some pictures somewhere here, though I really doubt that. I also don't know how to plant pictures in a blog, though I can figure that out with the Help button.

So be patient! Don't go getting all GMALASHEP on me with your persecutin' and all. I'll try to share some pictures!

edited to add: Dumb ass me posted this then went to the help menu and then clicked on "how do I post pictures?" And just so you all know, you push the image button right there above this, next to the spell check. Yeah, a button!

fooling myself

Watching the weather yesterday, I imagined today's soccer game being cancelled, and I relished the thought of getting some sleep.

Friday is the latest night Momma works, usually getting home sometime after 4:00 Saturday morning. It's hard not to stay up sometimes, thinking I'm waiting for her to get home, but I seldom actually stay up that late, especially if we have 9:30 soccer games Saturday morning.

We didn't get the shitty end of the storms, but we are getting plenty of rain, enough so that the games were cancelled. But did I get back to bed? I suppose I could have after my nine phone calls to tell families not to bother going to the fields. But I didn't, and no amount of wishing I had will get me that sleep I gave up on.

So the clock slowly wends it's way toward 10:00, and I'm the only one awake. I've lied about all the reasons to homeschool, and this is the true reason that you can sleep in. At least you can most days. I'm not saying you should, but you can. I'm a little surprised that neither of the boys are awake. I really expected The Boy to be up and about as this is his usual time. I'm not complaining that he isn't up as I'm actually getting a little peace and quiet, sadly rare and all too shortlived.

It's time to run to the garage. I can get another cigarette in before my shift starts.

GAAAAACCKKKK!!!

Aren't modern times great? Isn't it lovely that we can go from an interesting idea in children's fantasy literature to having the actual thing? And magic has nothing to do with it.

I know, that wordacious first paragraph as filler before I get to the real meat of the deal here.

Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans certainly sounded like fun the first time we read Harry Potter. I certainly didn't want to taste half the flavors, but that didn't matter. Wizard candy would seem difficult to attain in the Muggle world.

Then along comes Jelly Belly, fast becoming my favorite producer of nonchocolate candies. Anyone who can make a jelly bean flavored like buttered popcorn vaults several levels based on that one candy alone.

So what I was told was tutti frutti tasted like bubble gum flavor, which I don't really like so much. I'm certainly not repulsed by it, saving repulsion for the next one. Big Brother checked the bean then checked the guide on the package and declared it was either dirt or earthworm. It was dirt, but not a spitting dry dirt out of your mouth in a soccer game kind of dirt. This was a gummy dirt that still lingers somewhere in my nasal passages. Follow that with sardine which I promptly spit out.

I doubt The Boy notices differences in flavor when eating candy as he generally just attacks it. But Big Brother has to check each individual jelly bean before eating it so that he knows what flavor it is. I'm not sure if that stops him from eating any of them. I'm also not sure how they get the grass flavor to taste like grass. But that's quite okay.

braggin' on Momma

Momma has been practicing for the past few weeks with the Hard Knox Rollergirls, our town's answer to the growing roller derby craze. The practices are held at a fairly local roller skating rink. We aren't the only people there with kids, and several of the other girls bring their kids. During practice, any nonrollergirls are allowed to skate around the outside of the rink.

Big Brother is taking to the skates like a natural. He's made a couple of new friends as well as getting to see some old friends that we haven't seen in a while.

At the first practice I followed The Boy around, ready at a moment to catch him before he fell. Practice number two he didn't want to be followed/helped, so I let him go and did a little skating myself.

Last night I didn't bother with skates. The Boy wasn't making my night easy, and my sore as shit inner thigh muscles didn't need to be worked that way. So I got to pay attention to the girls a bit more.

They are coming along nicely. Many of the girls hadn't really skated before or hadn't skated in a very long time. Momma certainly hadn't skated in a while, though she actually owns her own skates.

On to the brag and the finish.

During time trials, Momma out skated every one there and consistently scored the lowest times. As I watched, I saw where she could get even faster. She needs better wheels if not better skates altogether. Her wheels were slipping as she took the curves, though she controlled her speed and turns well and didn't fall. If she were more stable in the curves at speed, she would easily shave a couple of seconds or more off her time.

They also began splitting into teams last night. I'm not sure exactly what's happening, how it's working, but I'm thinking that all the girls are basically the beginning of the local league, and from the crowd of girls at the practices they will form teams. Momma was offered a position on a team almost immediately.

Other than a message board, the only website I can find for the Hard Knox Roller Girls is their Myspace page. It's linked if anyone cares to check it out.

nothing worse

In a comment to my last post concerning Bush, the unstoppable juggernaut of unable to admit his own evil, friend Bridget left this comment.

Ah, not to worry.

The White House isn't a foreign place to our next President. She's just going to be sitting in a different office.

This comment of course reminded me of a delightful piece of video that the good folks over at Daily Kos were nice enough to point out and link to.

According to Tom Delay, there is nothing worse than a "know it all woman."

Take it for what it is. Hardball really doesn't seem that hard in light of the pandering to Delay that is evident in this clip.

And for the record, so that she can be even with Bill, I'll stand up now and offer my services to perform for Mrs. Clinton from under the desk.

ancient history, modern lessons

Can Bush learn from ancient Greek history? We are well into a war with no end in sight, and Lioness makes an great observation on this HERE.

Oh how I long for a day when I don't hear the phrase "President Bush" ever again.

guide to dining in a restaurant, the first

Too often customers dining in a restaurant don't quite know how to behave. It isn't that they can't behave in public, but for some reason, entering a restaurant seems to give these people a misplaced sense of themselves as a sort of master of the staff.

This isn't a post I've planned out and thought about in a usual sense. However, though I'm currently a stay at home dad, my work history is almost entirely food service based. I have several years of cooking experience along with a very few in management roles.

This post sprang from an experience that my wife had at work last night. Apparently, she is very often the only person inside Nama with a lighter. Nama, a swanky sushi bar here in the Patch, is one of a very few local places that are voluntarily smoke free. This is a whole other post that I need to write concerning establishment by government of smoke free by legislation. Momma's lighter was making the rounds of people, some staff using it to light tableside candles, some staff and customers taking the lighter outside to smoke.

She was not in possession of her lighter at the time of this occurrence. She had loaned it to a staff member and hadn't yet gotten it back, though she was aware that this staff member had sent it out on a loan train through staff and customers. One particular customer wanted to borrow the traveling lighter and knew that it belonged to her. So how did he request the use of the lighter?

Okay, hours later and at home, upon hearing the story, I nearly flew into a rage. This is something that you should NEVER do to anyone, especially anyone who is in control of how your food arrives for you to eat.

So what did this chump do? He snapped his fingers at her. He didn't utter a single word, didn't say please or anything that reasonable people do. He snapped his fucking fingers at her!!!

You might call a dog by snapping your fingers. You might snap your fingers in time to music. You might even try to get your kids attention with a quick snap of the fingers. But you should never, ever snap your fingers at the staff of any restaurant ever.

It is extremely rude. It is somewhat dehumanizing, especially in an industry so devoted to pleasing customers. Along with all the work it takes to run a restaurant correctly comes the attitudes of people who leave their humaneness at the door. Without having done the job, one cannot have any idea of the extreme stress of doing the job. Add to the unavoidable stresses the shitty attitudes of customers who expect servitude to just increase the stress.

I'll have to readdress this topic of customer behavior somewhat over time. I won't go into anything else here that idiot customers can do to infuriate restaurant staff. I will return to this in future postings and perhaps I'll write a tidy little pile of blogs that will become a book. I've long thought about writing a manual for restaurant diners so that they can be sure of good service and food. I have a store of experiences and anecdotes on which to rely as well as many friends in the business to maintain the flow.

We'll leave the topic for now however. We will reiterate what we've just learned. Do NOT snap your fingers at your server or at the cooks. It isn't appreciated and will only cause the staff to remember you as an asshole. It will reflect poorly on you and it very well might affect the service you can expect.

need to refocus myself

The point of this blog was never to sit idly waiting for me to remember it. I hoped to do more writing here of various kinds. I hoped that this would give me more reason and desire to write, to get back into the habit of writing regularly.

I've let the internet rule most of my days lately. Aside from constantly checking bloglines to see if there are new posts, I find that I keep getting dragged to blogs that I wouldn't normally bother with. I'm proud of some of the writing I've done in some comments to some fools. I can even make decent comments to the smart and nice people that I feel a camaraderie with in this crazy internet/blogging/homeschooling world that's growing so wonderfully.

In addition, and as a shitty excuse, I've let my online time grow to encompass so much of my day that I don't allow myself time for much else. My patience with the boys has diminished because of this as well. I can't blame the internets for my own problem, no matter how much I'd like.

Basically, I need to refocus myself and my energies. Even cooking meals has slid to a place of unimportance that really should embarrass me. I've allowed the boys unending hours of television, and they've proven that they will watch just about any cartoon, even if they saw the exact same episode mere hours ago.

All that to say, I should spend less time fucking off around these parts, but I don't know how likely that is. I really need to get off my ass and do lots of things. The computer aint going to do it for me, so I guess it really is up to me.

Okay, now I've said to much. The computer can hear me I think, and it knows what I'm saying. I don't think I'm making it happy, and I'm afraid it's going to do something. I'm sorry, computer. It's not you; it's me.

crazy weather

Sometime around 8:00 last night, shortly before the sky opened over us, I noticed a weather report. I could have told you it was going to rain, and suddenly it did.

I quickly remembered the car windows and quickly ran to roll them up. The driver's side, into which the rain was ferociously blowing is the hard one. While pushing the button you have to pull the window up. This of course was especially difficult as the window and my fingers were soaked. As I got the windows up the hail started. I waited the hail out in the car then darted inside.

The storms raged on and off all night. The wind was insane, howling around the house, roaring in the tree tops. It was a night to feel small and weak in the face of that tiny taste of what nature can do.

I learned this morning about the tornadoes in the other end of our state. We were under a torndoe watch ourselves for a bit of last night, but I hadn't heard of any touching down at that point. Our largest hail was golf ball size according to my wife. I was retucking The Boy into his bed and heard it, but I wanted him asleep and wasn't willing to get up and check it out. I could hear how bad it was though.

All day today we saw dark clouds hovering, blowing slowly past. The wind was in the tree tops again with it's steady roar. There's something almost hypnotic in watching the trees in the wind. Miyazaki captures that mysteriousness really well in My Neighbor Totoro, especially when Tsatsuki is outside getting firewood and the wind come blasting through and whips the wood pile into the air. I didn't expect this would end with Miyazaki, but it's fitting. Whenever I really notice the wind, I tend to also think of Totoro as the wind is such an interesting facet of the movie.

In addition to the links above, here is the IMDB page about Miyazaki. I wouldn't bother so much, but he deserves every bit of recognition he gets, and all children deserve to watch his movies.

Our weather should be normal and calm by tomorrow. I hope so. I have great plans for mowing grass sometime this week. I'd like for our practice field to be dry for Big Brother's soccer practice tomorrow night.

using a comment as a blog, with commentary

I'm not sure what exactly Danny was getting at when he posed his comment to me in his blog. I'm not going into the whole story of why the hell I ever bothered with this dumb fuck, but I did. Go see Doc about it if you want any more info. Those that know already already know, and since they are the few people reading this, they already know. Anyway, here is my response to the new Dumbass Danny. Anyway, after my "hitting kids is bad" comment, he accused me of being a spanker. I answered him.

I will admit, Danny, that I have spanked my kids. I have used very flimsy arguements to justify it. I still feel the shame of having hit my kids, and I know that I've done bad and hurtful things to my kids.
I know what it's like to feel that I have so little control that perhaps I should hit my kids and make them do what I want. That is a very powerless situation to put yourself in as a
parent, but that is nothing compared to what it does to our kids.
I also know what it's like to grow up with the dread of the whippings. I grew up being whipped in a manner that doesn't seem too far away from much of what the Pearl family suggests. Did they ever serve their intended function? Not one bit. They certainly hurt like hell. If anything, they served only to frighten and hurt me as a child, confuse me as an adult and to lessen my supply of tools with which to raise my children.
Once you've accepted hitting as acceptable, it lessens the power of every thing you do and it cheapens your role as a parent.
No matter how long it's been since I stopped spanking, I still know that fear in my kids' eyes that their father might hurt them. They certainly know I've hurt them, and I can't even start to think how that might effect them. I still know that I'm a person that has hurt his children.
I think a number of parents are upset at this boycot because it points out their own shortcomings. If you've been spanking, you've conditioned your kids with pain, how can you ever hope to top that as a motivation? How can you admit that what you've done, what you've justified, is actually wrong? How can you admit that you've twisted scripture to justify wanton abuse of kids? It's really hard to do, to admit that you've been hitting your kids. You never even want to call it hitting, because spanking is more acceptable, while hitting is hitting. But spanking is hitting. You can't spank without hitting. And hitting isn't okay.
If you don't believe that hitting kids is okay, then how can you support people who earn money from advocating the hitting of kids? That's foolish to even think it's okay. It's certainly at least selfish to be more concerned about your internet community than the fact that children are being abused by parents who think it's okay because their church or their christian friends suggest that it's okay.
That is the very heart of the matter, and it seems people want to hide it. Hiding child abuse is as bad as abusing the child. If you hide an entire culture of abuse, then you must take responsibility for each and every child hurt by these teachings.

In a sense, it's sort of a coming clean for me. I really wish I'd never spanked my kids. Nothing I say can change that I did it. I was spanked so regularly as a child that it really lost a lot of the horror that should be associated with hitting kids. It was so normal to me, just a part of life.

There's a dark humor for me in all this talk of spanking. I've read some true horror stories from people who were spanked similarly to how I was spanked. So many people carry such hatred and fear and distrust for their parents into adulthood because of the abuse. I certainly have very conflicted feelings, not the least of which is the distinct difference in my lack of belief versus the whole extreme Baptist upbringing.

I was taught that humans were born with a sin nature. Left to themselves, all people would do all day is lay around and sin. If you were taught at a young age to fear god and dad, you would be spared this horrid life of sin and death and hell. So when I sinned, I was supposed to accept that I deserved to feel the pain of the rod and then be remorseful. I was never sorry because of my sin nature, so I had to be taught with pain how to truly feel sorry.

And still it didn't really have a major effect on me that I can point to and say, "Yes, that's because I was spanked." Of course I haven't really had to think about it for several years, and now it's all slowly coming back out. I don't remember the last time I truly considered the whippings I got till the boycot started me thinking. Reading some of the shit from the Pearl's book was just so much like my own experience that it kind of put me back there. I still don't like to think about it, so I may never figure out how those whippings fucked me up.

Between reading at Danny's then answering and having to be lazy about blogging, I need a fucking cigarette and a beer. I'm sinning twice, and it's all because I didn't get punished often enough as a child. Is cussing a sin? The commandments don't say "thou shalt not say fuck or shit or damn or hell or pussy or dick or etc." So what's a bitch to do? Fuck it, I need that goddamn cigarette!

who the fffffffff

I'll go ahead and admit that I'm jumping on this from damn Kos. But seriously, who the fuck does this Howard Kaloogian think he is?

Here's the link, BLECH-AAAACK!

Cindy Sheehan is anti-troop? And he's pro-troop because he insisted that fresh coffee be given to some of our troops? Fuck you Howard Kaloogian! Why don't you and your coffee go and fight the fucking war and let the soldiers come home to their families?

How much more up Bush's ass could the Republican party be?

do you hit kids?

Regardless of where we think babies come from, when we choose to produce them and bring them into this world, we take on a certain duty and responsibility to them. Sadly, many of us don't stick with the contract.

I propose we remove words like spanking and beating and abusing from conversations that involve children. In their place we will simplify it to hitting. There are other abuses of children, but we aren't discussing those right now.

Do you hit kids? Do you hit all the kids around you that don't obey your rules? Do you hit your own kids? Do you call it something else when in reality it is hitting? Do you hit kids? Are you an adult? Do you hit you husband/wife? Do you hit your kids? Do you hit your neighbor? Do you hit the cashier at the grocery store? Do you hit kids? Do you hit your siblings? Do you allow your kids to hit? Do you hit kids?

It's just that simple. Kids don't react as well to being hit as you might think. Regardless of human resiliency, kids don't like being hit. Kids don't deserve to be hit. Do you think it would be okay for me to come hit you?

How about that last one? What if I came and hit you? Would that be okay? What if I could show you scriptural passages that I said indicated that I should hit you? Would that be okay? If I said to you that god told me to come and hit you, that god wasn't happy with what you were doing. Could I come and hit you then? If I decided that you were not following god's law, could I come and hit you?

Do you hit kids?

Even if you say that you don't beat or abuse your kids, if you hit them, then you've gone too far. You've proven that you are an incapable parent. You have two options. You can stop hitting and start parenting, or you can find a way to pretend that hitting kids is okay. You can be an adult, or you can be a person that hits kids.

Do you hit kids?

today is . . .

Wednesday, 3/29, and Momma is, as usual, at work. The weather here has a hint of coolness, yet it is a beautiful day full of sunshine. I've scooped the dog poop from the yard and kicked the boys out into the outside to play. I however sit hunched over the computer tappingtappingtapping the keys, trying like hell to write something both legible and readable with just a touch of worthwhileness to it in the hopes that one day I will be the king of blogs.

Or not!

I have a mental list of chores that need to be done. I can look into the garage from here and see one of my big chores, cleaning that giant hole that hasn't been clear enough in years to admit a car. The grass is growing in wild patches of grass here, of lovely little purple flowers there. The lawnmower awaits, still resting from last year, hoping like hell that this is the year I change the oil.

Being Wednesday, tonight is Momma's roller derby practice. I'm sure I'll take the boys, and Big Brother will get even better on the roller skates while The Boy will continue his baby stepping along, convinced that my hands will forever hover just so, ready to either catch or pick up as soon as he should slip and fall.

Being 3/29, tomorrow is Lucero. I love getting to go out to see bands, and I've been looking forward to this show for a couple of months now. I certainly plan on fitting as many High Lifes into my belly as I can, and I might even raise the rock fist and sing along. Being the stay at home dad these days, along with Momma's all too often insane work schedule, my going out has been seriously curtailed. Subconciously, that seems to mean make up for lost time when the chance finally drops into my lap.

I know that it wasn't that long ago that I mentioned Lucero, and perhaps I should take a break between my rabid fan talk, but I just can't. Remember being a teenager when a single band could really change your life? You would get that album/tape/cd and listen to it so much that you almost wore it out that first week. The band took on some mythical greatness in your teen mind, and every word and note spoke to you of something bigger than you'd ever known, love greater than has ever existed, things you alone understood.

Then you grow up and things aren't so big, so grand, so right or so wrong anymore. You appreciate and love music a little differently. You've seen more of the world and of life and you just aren't as green as you were back then.

I believe that almost anyone can write a good song, and almost anyone can fall into a just so alignment where they have that one huge hit song without actually being a good enough band/musician to last. I need only mention the song "Come on Eileen (sic?)" to prove that point. Many bands can pull off a certain sound with a certain panache that they attract a cult following without having to actually be a good band, i.e. The Smiths (blech.) Some bands seem formed by someone else, a sort of musical ID that sits alone in the heavens, always knowing how and when to nudge this guitar player with that drummer who is friends with that guy that writes songs.

I fear I'll never stop adding to this meandering thing. I've come and gone several times, most recently to fix lunch for a pair of monkeys. Now I'm back and wondering what possessed me to start writing where I did, and what took me around that random corner to finish writing where I did. The world is certainly a worse place because I can't answer that question.

word of the day is . . .

Forfend, as in an old lady, back of her hand to her forehead as she slips from the chair in a dead faint at the sight of . . .whatever the hell could offend some genteel old matron.

"Heaven forfend," she says just as her eyes close in the swoon.

Forfend: avert, ward off, forbid or go to dictionary.com for the whole story like I did.

I'm afraid that once again I was reading at the Daily Kos. I usually only check them in my bloglines, but sometimes, as will happen throughout bloggywood, some random topic will actively suck me onto the page. Someone's comment contained the term "heaven forbid" which term I tend to mentally translate to "heaven forfend" because it sounds archaic and silly, like something Bart Simpson would say on any random episode in which he had to wear any sort of period dress.

Maybe I will dredge up more words of the day. It isn't a bad idea and additionaly gives me a topic about which I shouldn't generally be able to fuss/cuss over too much. Having said that, I'm due for a good rant sometime soon. I also don't have to think or link too much, just gibber a little bit in a way that at least I am amused by.