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It Is…Alive!

Dear Father, it has been weeks since my last post.  Don’t even bother with the penance, I know what to do…

Dear Reader(s),

I am sorry that I have left you hanging for so long.  I got a little snowed under at work and have not made time to get my blog on.  Even as I type these words I feel like an addict that has been off the junk for a while, but has now fallen off the wagon and is on a long overdue heroin bender.  In fact, I feel the heroin-esque sensation coursing through my fingers as I diligently peck away at my keyboard rig.  I had better get to a point quickly before I slip away into a comatose state within my own head movies.  Should I loosen this tournequet…

With the passing of that surge of adrenaline that comes from me falling off of the blogging wagon, or bl0gon, I am now ready to tell you all what has been going on these past few weeks.

I should start with my new conquest.  I read the article on about the kid that started out trading a cell phone one Craig’sl List and ended up with a Porsche two years later and I was inspired.  I have embarked on a similar journey over the past couple of weeks.  I will frequently update you with my CL adventures as I quest to trade for something bigger and better.

So far I started by selling my lawn mower.  I don’t use my mower because I support illegal immigrants by paying them to cut my grass.  It’s my way of giving back to the latino community that has done so much for me.  By this I mean that they brought  Mexican food and Dos Equis to this country.  I will never repay my debt to Juan…or is it Paco?  They all look the same once you strap a leaf blower to them…I kid of course.

My next CL transaction was to sell some hand carved wood columns that I salvaged from a hotel that was being renovated.  I thought that I was going to create something cool and original with those columns, but all that I could muster was a pile of wood columns for M to climb on.  I traded said columns for an antique vanity that has very unique etchings and is in pretty good shape.  I am cleaning it up to repost it hopefully this weekend.  I also traded my old original Xbox for an unopened set of P90X.  I have not yet decided to try the P90X and get into shape, or to try to parlay it into something else on CL, which is my main objective here…but then again I am kinda fat…stay tuned for a decision on that while I tear into this package of Ho-Ho’s.

Items currently up for sale or trade:

My Laseraim .45 ACP with laser site.  I can’t actually post this one on CL, but I need to somehow work it into a trade if I am going to stay true to my mission.  We are also starting to shed baby gear like a teenage girl who got lucky and miscarried.  I am talking strollers, swings, you name it, we got it…and it all has to go because the baby farm is closed for business.

I will post another entry soon to update you all on the adventures of M & lil B.  Some fun tales to be shared!

Living Vicariously Through My Kids

Not long ago I decide that I am going to live vicariously through my children.  I am going to have them do all of the things that I did not get to do as a child.  I know that most of you already assume that I am talking about sports.  Don’t get me wrong,  I will probably do what most fathers who participated in sports end up doing for their kids.  I will spend thousands upon thousands of dollars sending my kids to sporting camps hosted by local pro athletes (who never actually show up at the camp).  I will bribe referees, coaches, and teachers in order to assure the maximum playing time for my kids.  Hell, I may even sabotage my children’s opponents.  Anything for mention of my child in the local gazette, right?  While I will, undoubtedly, do all of these things, there are other, more important things that my children need to experience…for me. 

As a child, I always wanted to be trained in martial arts.  I never got the chance because I was too busy stealing hood ornaments and pulling drive-by shootings with my paintball gun.  Naturally, I want my children to experience the confidence and discipline that is taught through martial arts.  My son is now almost 11 months old.  I have been training him to become a baby ninja since he was about 6 months old.  I am happy to report that he is progressing rather nicely.  He even connected on a roundhouse kick to the skull of his three-year-old sister the other day. (assisted by me of course, as he cannot yet walk)  It felt as if I were actually the one landing that sweet roundhouse to her petite, blonde noggin.  I must say, if dealing out round-houses to one of my kids…using my other kid were a drug, I would be Pablo Escobar.  This whole vicarious living concept is going to work out for me, I think. 

Heee Yah!


I never got a tattoo as a young person.  Naturally, I do not want my kids to miss their window like I did, so I got M inked.  I didn’t want to take her to one of those trendy tattoo shops with their fancy artists and sterilized needles like all of the punk college kids.  I found a homeless man the other day that had a sign that read, “Will Tattoo You For Food”, so I hired him.  Turns out that he was not looking for food, so after a fifth of $7 whiskey he was ready to get started on my three-year-old daughter’s tat.  We are pretty happy with the results and after a brief hospital stay and a bout of tetanus, the tattoo is healing nicely.  What a gift for both M and Me! 

I am not completely irresponsible


I think that my children are going to grow up with the sense that they have lived life to the fullest.  I can’t wait for tomorrow’s experience where I…er my kids get to go skydiving!

3 Ladies and A Tent

So two of my buddies and I decided it would be a good idea to do a daddy-daughter camping trip.  We all have daughters ranging from 3 to 6 years in age and none of them have been camping before.  A weekend was selected and a camping location agreed upon.  After a week’s worth of negotiations with my wife, we wer finally cleared for take-off.

We made nature our bitch

Rather than take the economic option and carpool, I was forced to take my own vehicle in the event that M could not handle life on the prairie (I conceded this point during negotiations).  This actually ended up being a nice decision because of all of the crap that I had to bring for a one-night  camping trip.

The items required for M were as follows (keep in mind this was a one-night event): M had 2 pants, 5 shirts, 3 panties, 4 pairs of socks, a blanket, 2 stuffed animals, 1 princess miniature camp chair, 1 sleeping bag (princess graphics of course), 2 pairs of shoes, 1 towel, 1 pillow, 2 gallon-sized Zip-Lock bags full of every child medicine known to man.  Turns out that the only item that I was short on was princess band-aids (I was only outfitted with 4, and once one of them was issued, it seemed that all of the girls mysteriously developed injuries), and last, but not least, a little potty for the girls (this had to be one of the most valuable items we had…guess I just assumed that nature-potty-ing came natural to little girls like it did for us boys…I don’t want to even think of the issues we would have had without that miniature miracle of modern convenience…).  In addition to the food items that I was assigned to bring for the group, I had to bring the food items that are M-friendly because she is still a pretty dedicated non-meat-eater.  To say the least, the back of my SUV was crammed full (I think it took longer to load and unload than the duration of the actual trip). 

A short two hours (and 3 pit stops) later we finally arrived at the camp grounds.  While we didn’t get the perfect site, we were able to get a pretty good one.  We attempted to bribe the girls with a little snack in hopes that this would keep them occupied while we started setting up tents.  Of course this did not work.  I counted at least 15 times that there was a toddler/pre-schooler diving into the tent as we attempted to set it up.  I won’t even get into how the air mattresses were treated as trampolines…That being said, the tents went up without a hitch.

One down, one to go...

It was about this time that the third daddy-daughter team arrived (conveniently just after all of the hard work was done hehe).  The only reason I mention the late arrival of our third tandem is that they stopped at the general store up the road from the camp site and my buddy unwillingly made a purchase that would haunt us for the rest of the trip.

Inside this standard little general store, tucked away in the back corner behind the fishing lures and Little Debbie snakes was a little display/dispenser of highly polished, multicolored rocks.  The idea being that you grab a little draw string bag and fill it with your choice of as many stones as you could fit for a flat rate.  Well, my buddy, being the great dad that he is, lets his daughter get a small pouch of said rocks, and any of us would have done the same.  However, what my buddy did not know, what any of us did not know, was that these little rocks would be the center of much controversy amongst the daughters.  You would have thought that this little girl was the Pablo Escobar of geodes with the way that the other daughters reacted upon seeing them…”yo man, how much fo just one rock?”  “I need it, I gotta have it, man” “you got so many rocks, I’ll do anything…cain’t have just one?”  The dialog may not have been quite so Menace II Society-ish, but you get the idea.

crack rock anyone?

Despite the small spats over the rocks, things were going pretty well.  We took the girls on a nice little hike and let them throw some rocks into the stream.  They would have stayed there for hours if we had let them.  It was not just picking up rocks and throwing them into the water.  No, they had to find the perfect rock. “I have an idea, let’s toss that bag of multi-colored rocks in the creek, whataya say?”, I said…in my head.  It was great to sit back and watch them interact with one another.  My 3 year-old was on an entirely different plane than the older girls, but yet they all agreed on one thing, throwing rocks into the creek is big fun.  Big fun until my daughter looses her footing and takes a little spill into the drink.  Needless to say, our little hike was over shortly thereafter.   

We get back to camp and it’s time to get the camp fire up and going.  To the girls, the lighting of the camp fire meant one thing, and one thing only, SMORES!  So we start cooking up some burgers and dogs when we realize that we forgot to bring any type of eating utensils, plates, cups, etc.  Thankfully we were eating a typically hand-held meal, so this was not a huge issue.  It just bruised our all-knowing camping egos.

gratuitous art shot

So, the girls ate a combined total of one hot dog (no bun), 1/2 of a hamburger, and one hand crafted peanut butter and jelly sandwich (one guess as to who ate this…) This might be cause for concern had they not eaten a bucket of trail mix, a bag of beef jerky, several snack packs of goldfish, fruit snacks, and a drank gallon of Capri-Sun throughout the day.  It should be no surprise that dinner obviously did not take long to finish.  Bring on the smores.

The smore feast was a really fun period in the trip.  None of the girls had eaten smores before and it was quite a treat for them.  They had a blast roasting marshmallows although all agreed that they did not like the “black” part.  You can imagine the sticky messes that ensued as the girls picked away the charred exterior of the roasted marshmallows to reveal the melted center.  I think I am still picking sticky goo out of M’s hair…(hold your “Something About Mary” references please)

mmmmm smores!

As the daylight faded to dark, the good times roared on for the girls.  We provided them all with their very own identical flashlight (you would think that this would keep them from fighting over the flashlights…and you would be wrong).  I ended up having to provide my daughter with her own (you guessed it) princess flashlight so that everyone knew which one was her light. Ahh to get into the mind of a toddler…We also had a special treat of glow sticks for the girls to play with in the tent.  (Between the “crack” rocks and the glow sticks, Insert your rave jokes here.)

que the trance dj

Roughly 10:30 PM

The girls’ normal bed times range from 8:00 to 8:30 PM.  It was around 11:00 PM that the screaming and giggling finally died down and they all passed out.  The daddy’s stayed up until around 3:30 AM enjoying some fire-side beverages, stoking the fire, and solving the world’s problems.

I crawl into my tent and just as I get comfortable I hear the crunching of sticks and leaves outside as someone approached my tent.  Then I hear the dreaded, “Merrit is awake and needs to tinkle”.  Are you F-ing kidding me!  I get up, grab a very groggy and cranky M and head out to the potty.  She does her business and I head back to tuck her into her sleeping bag alongside the other girls.  Of course she would not just go back to sleep, she wanted me to sleep with her.  When I tried to take her over to my tent you would have thought that I shot her dog.  Needless to say, we had two six-man tents and 5 people ended up sleeping in one tent and one lucky daddy had an entire tent to himself.  No, that lucky daddy was not me…

You would think that since the girls stayed up until 11:00PM or later that they might sleep in, but you would be wrong again…After such a late night and the fact that we were short on eating utensils, we decided to scrap the delicious bacon, sausage and egg breakfast that we had planned (and were soo looking forward to!) to opt for the Pop-Tart variety.

As we ate our “fresh” pastries, the daddy types sleep-packed and tore down camp while the daughter types tried to score more crack from one another.  The time was about 10:00 AM when we were finally ready to hit the road home.  You can probably guess our first stop. Yep, that infamous  general store to score some rocks!

and the late night finally gets its revenge...

The Other Woman In My Bed

Exhibit A

We always thought it was funny when our friends would tell us about their children sleeping in the parent’s bed.  We never understood how that could happen.  We had the perfect child (don’t we all).  In fact, we used to try to bring our toddler into our bed when she was sick or scared.  M would lay in the bed about 5 minutes and then she would ask to go back to her own bed.  We had it good and those other parents were suckers.

That was then.  In recent months our three-year-old daughter has started to infiltrate our bed.  At first it was once or twice a week.  She would wake up from a bad dream and would come to our room crying at three o’clock in the morning.  We would of course scoop her up into our bed for comforting (with the knowledge that she would be heading back to her bed soon).  After waking up a few times with a small foot in my face, or rolling over and bumping heads with her little head, I noticed that M had decided to stop going back to her own bed.  No big deal, right?  I mean, it’s only once or twice a week…

I couldn’t have been more wrong.  Now, it is commonplace to wake up in the morning with two women in my bed.  M’s sleeping in our bed has gone through a process of evolution.  At first, it was the five-minute visit every now and then.  Now it has evolved into a nightly occurence.  She even brings her pillow, blanket and Haiti (her stuffed Monkey).  It’s like she’s slowly moving into our room!  Which brings me to the most recent stage of her sleep evolution.  Skipping her bed and going straight to ours… 

Yep, last night we put M to bed in her bed like always.  We read the stories, said the prayers, fetched the water, applied the band-aids, and assembled the sleep brigade of stuffed animals.  She was down for the night.  The wife and I were in watching television and M had allegedly been in bed for about an hour.  My wife went back to our bedroom to get ready for bed and she got a nice surprise when she walked in the room.  There was M all tucked into OUR bed.  She had her blanket and Haiti.  M had herself all  propped up on the pillows like she was about to watch some Letterman…wide awake.  When questioned about why she was in our bed her response was, ” I just wanted to snuggle”.  As hard as was to turn down that snuggle, we shuttled her off to her own bed…in tears.  Not to worry, she was in my bed this morning as if she had never left. 

I now find myself calling out for help to those afore-mentioned suckers…  HELP!

A Night In The Life…

I am going to share something with you all that could change your image of me as a superdad.  Iam going to let you in to catch a glimpse of my Clark Kent side.  That’s right, I am pulling back the cape, removing the giant “SD” from my spandex toddler fighting uniform ( yes, it’s spandex…my new UnderArmour suit is on backorder).  

My real work day begins as I pull into  the daycare to pick up my offspring (after donning my SD suit!).  I am greeted with shrieks of “Daddy!” and a huge hug.  Sounds awesome, doesn’t?  Well, it is great!  Unfortunately that’s as good as it gets for this superdad…see, the very toddlers that I adore so much are also my Kryptonite…

I swoop in and snatch my daughter up like a true hero..and then she and I spend the next 20 minutes collecting baby brother’s empty bottles, soiled baby clothes, and our his daily Crap Log.  The daily Crap Log tells you each and every time down to the minute that your baby took a dump during the day.  This is valuble information once you learn how to use it…let me know if and when you figure it out so that I will know what it’s for…I feel like the people on LOST blindly plugging away at those buttons on the computer hoping that someday they will find out why…until then I just keep logging the crap…perhaps my secret laboratory will be able to create an anti-toddler serum from this data.

The car ride home  is short in distance, and can be very entertaining.  It can also be like driving an ice pick through your brain at times…Typically the drive conversation is dominated by my daughter.  It goes something like this-

Her:  Daddy? Daddy? Daaadeee?

Me: Yes?

Her: I want a snack at home…I want a snack at home…I wan-

Me: Okay, you can have a snack when we get home

Her: I want chocolate milk…Daddy, I want chocolate milk…Daddy, I want chocolate mi-

Me: Okay, you can have some chocolate milk when we get home

Her: Daddy, can I watch Dora?  Can I watch a movie? I want to watch Dora, Daddy, can I watch (breath) Dora, Dadd-

Me: Okay, you can watch Dora when we get home…Let’s listen to the radio (loudly) now 

This goes on for a solid 15 minutes.  Mind you, this does not stop once we arrive at the house.  It continues until she has chocolate milk and snack in hand and is seated in front of the TV.  How can that child watch the same episode of Dora The Explorer 50 times with same enthusiasm and interest as if it were her first time seeing it???  I am not bitching.  This is quiet time, the time when I mend my super suit from the previous battle and prepare myself for the many that lie ahead…

In the interest of time,  the dinner portion of our evening may be seen my inagural post…

It is after the toddler eats that she is most powerful.  The post dinner ritual literally begins with me getting my ass kicked .  To her, I am a human jungle gym…trampoline, tackling dummy, horsey, and most recently olympic downhill freestyle ski run…Once I have been beaten down and lie on the floor out of breath,  my wife rescues me by sounding the “bath time” announcement.  

The wife and I alternate bath night because the toddlers powers too strong for one to endure back-to-back nights…If it’s my night, I scrape myself up from floor and take the long walk to the bathroom.  “Dead Man Walking!”  Like sharks in bloody water, my daughter can sense that she has weakened my defences and she is all over me in no time…

Getting weak…kryptonite too strong…super powers, don’t fail me now…something about the toddler’s strength mixed with princess bubble bath make her powers almost too much for this superdad…just…reach…into the water…and…pull the…plug…ahhh sweet release…bathtime is ending…I am gaining strength as the tub drains. The towel somehow stuns the toddler for long enough to get her subdued and into her special pajamas…now for the final battle, bedtime.

Bedtime is supposed to be relaxing.  We read stories to the now imprisioned toddler while she is still stunned from the lead-coated PJ’s.  Just when you think that you have defeated her; stories read, Taylor Swift swooning in the background, hugs and kisses gently applied and you are tip-toeing toward the sweet serenity of time alone with your wife, you hear, “Daddy”.  You stop just out of the sight line of the imprisoned toddler and you don’t move a muscle…her powers are strengthening…she senses your presence and calls out again…This sets off a 30 minute string of trips to and from her room to bring water, apply band aids to phantom wounds, pick up fallen members of the 15-stuffed animal sleep brigade, and hiding any books that contain “witches” from her site. 

After a few idol threats to kidnap valued members of the sleep brigade the toddler falls victim to sleep.  This leaves you just enough time with the wife to catch up on the day and then it’s off to bed to rest for the next day’s looming battles.  We are fast asleep when my super powered senses are aroused…I suddlenly sit straight up in my bed .  I check the clock and see that it is 3:00 AM.  “Pat, pat pat”…what is that noise… “pat, pat pat”… that I hear?  OH NO!  It can’t be!  She’s baaaack!