I went fishing this afternoon.
On the way to Willard Bay, I stopped at Maverik and got a Styrofoam container full of mud balls and a dozen night crawlers.
When I got on the water I set up a bottom bouncer weight with a double worm hook. When I pulled the top off the worm can, I read the label. "NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION"
OK, lets get this straight. We aren't supposed to eat the worms. I kind of thought that was self-explanetary.
So I baited my hook and cast it into the water. Then my mind started racing. I've heard that for every disclaimer there was an associated lawsuit. People hire attorneys for every conceivable shortcoming. I just heard about a lady suing an airline because she fell asleep on her flight and the stewardess failed to wake her. She was on the plane four hours after it landed, still sleeping. I don't think she has a case.
Then I remembered McDonalds getting sued for a woman spilling hot coffee between her legs. That is why all the coffee cups now say, "CAUTION: CONTENTS MAY BE HOT"
So now my Styrofoam worm can says "NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION" What human ate the night crawlers and then sued the worm company? Whoever wins a lawsuit like that should have to wear a sign for the rest of their lives that says, "WARNING, I REQUIRE SUPERFLUOUS DISCLAIMERS FOR MY OWN SURVIVAL" The back of the sign would need to say, "NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION"
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
The day our bus-boy tried to kill our newborn
Six years ago we brought home our youngest child.
After three weeks at home with a newborn and two toddlers, my wife was stir crazy. She wanted to take the family out to dinner on Saturday night. She was craving meat so we headed north to a great steak-house up the road a bit from North Ogden.
Our toddlers were acting extraordinarily well-behaved that evening, as they sat and played with their toys, but our newborn was fussy. He wasn't crying or screaming by any means, but he was making louder than normal baby noises.
Our waitress came and took our order. We ordered half a cow as I rocked our baby in my arms to try to keep him quiet. A few restless minutes passed and a buss-boy came to our table and set down a two-inch tall miniature bottle of warm baby formula. He turned and walked away.
I held up the bottle and inspected its contents. "Wow, you go to a fancy steak-house and they bring your newborn a drink too. That's pretty cool. Do you think he is being too fussy? Do you think they are trying to politely tell us to shut our kid up?"
"Can I see it?" One of my toddlers asked, reaching past my outstretched arm.
"No, it's not a toy, it's for the baby." I responded, holding the bottle out of reach. I set the bottle down on the end of the table where the check is usually dropped off so it wouldn't be disturbed.
Several minutes passed and the baby and the toddlers grew restless. It was a busy night and our meal was delayed.
"It's gonna be a while. You haven't fed the baby yet. Why don't you feed him the bottle?" My wife asked.
"That sounds fun." I reached over and popped the clear cap off the top with one hand. The lid bounced around on the table and fell onto my older son's lap. He looked up and smiled. He looked back down and filled the lid with Lego's.
The babies head jerked around to the touch of the nipple to his cheek. He latched on. His lips settled into a steady rhythm and I leaned back, enjoying my family. I looked up and smiled at my wife. She winked at me. We were prepared to last a few more minutes without nourishment.
Just when we expected our food to arrive, the restaurant manager came to our table with an expression that feared a lawsuit.
"Good evening," her voice cracked. "I don't know how to say this, but that bottle was supposed to go to a different table. A customer gave the bottle to a waitress who gave it to a cook to warm up, who gave it to a bus-boy to return it to the customer, but he saw your baby and gave it to you on accident."
I pulled the near-empty bottle from the babies mouth. "Tell me that was formula." I said as my head rolled back and my eyes widened. I set the bottle down on the table and the manager picked it up.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure it was just formula." she replied.
There was silence for a moment as I stared at my wife and looked down at my newborn son, questioning my ability to use common sense.
"Well, lets find out what was in the bottle I just fed my newborn." I demanded in a whisper.
"I'll do that sir, I'll be right back." She walked away with the empty bottle in her hand.
I shook my head while staring at my wife. "That thing sat right on the edge of our table for ten minutes without being touched. She's probably wondering what kind of idiot puts a random bottle in their kids mouth. It looked like a disposable bottle, a little one use thing you would just throw away. We've never taken a baby to a nice restaurant before. Oh, this is just unreal."
A few minutes later the manager returned with the look of someone who just lost a lawsuit. "It wasn't formula."
We ate half a cow while wondering what to do next. The baby fell asleep, totally oblivious to blood-borne illnesses and STD's.
We got a chance to talk to our baby's surrogate milk donor. It turned out she was a nurse at Primary Children's Hospital. She worked with children who had compromised immune systems. She had regular blood work done for her job. She told us we couldn't ask for a better milk donor. Somehow I believed her.
I sometimes wonder if what we considered to be an act of complete stupidity didn't help our son. Maybe she passed an important antibody to our son. Maybe his surrogate milk donor helped him avoid a serious disease. Sometimes what seems like a curse is really a blessing.
We ate at that steak-house again with our three kids last month. We ordered a whole cow that time. I avoided the temptation to order a miniature bottle of breast milk.
After three weeks at home with a newborn and two toddlers, my wife was stir crazy. She wanted to take the family out to dinner on Saturday night. She was craving meat so we headed north to a great steak-house up the road a bit from North Ogden.
Our toddlers were acting extraordinarily well-behaved that evening, as they sat and played with their toys, but our newborn was fussy. He wasn't crying or screaming by any means, but he was making louder than normal baby noises.
Our waitress came and took our order. We ordered half a cow as I rocked our baby in my arms to try to keep him quiet. A few restless minutes passed and a buss-boy came to our table and set down a two-inch tall miniature bottle of warm baby formula. He turned and walked away.
I held up the bottle and inspected its contents. "Wow, you go to a fancy steak-house and they bring your newborn a drink too. That's pretty cool. Do you think he is being too fussy? Do you think they are trying to politely tell us to shut our kid up?"
"Can I see it?" One of my toddlers asked, reaching past my outstretched arm.
"No, it's not a toy, it's for the baby." I responded, holding the bottle out of reach. I set the bottle down on the end of the table where the check is usually dropped off so it wouldn't be disturbed.
Several minutes passed and the baby and the toddlers grew restless. It was a busy night and our meal was delayed.
"It's gonna be a while. You haven't fed the baby yet. Why don't you feed him the bottle?" My wife asked.
"That sounds fun." I reached over and popped the clear cap off the top with one hand. The lid bounced around on the table and fell onto my older son's lap. He looked up and smiled. He looked back down and filled the lid with Lego's.
The babies head jerked around to the touch of the nipple to his cheek. He latched on. His lips settled into a steady rhythm and I leaned back, enjoying my family. I looked up and smiled at my wife. She winked at me. We were prepared to last a few more minutes without nourishment.
Just when we expected our food to arrive, the restaurant manager came to our table with an expression that feared a lawsuit.
"Good evening," her voice cracked. "I don't know how to say this, but that bottle was supposed to go to a different table. A customer gave the bottle to a waitress who gave it to a cook to warm up, who gave it to a bus-boy to return it to the customer, but he saw your baby and gave it to you on accident."
I pulled the near-empty bottle from the babies mouth. "Tell me that was formula." I said as my head rolled back and my eyes widened. I set the bottle down on the table and the manager picked it up.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure it was just formula." she replied.
There was silence for a moment as I stared at my wife and looked down at my newborn son, questioning my ability to use common sense.
"Well, lets find out what was in the bottle I just fed my newborn." I demanded in a whisper.
"I'll do that sir, I'll be right back." She walked away with the empty bottle in her hand.
I shook my head while staring at my wife. "That thing sat right on the edge of our table for ten minutes without being touched. She's probably wondering what kind of idiot puts a random bottle in their kids mouth. It looked like a disposable bottle, a little one use thing you would just throw away. We've never taken a baby to a nice restaurant before. Oh, this is just unreal."
A few minutes later the manager returned with the look of someone who just lost a lawsuit. "It wasn't formula."
We ate half a cow while wondering what to do next. The baby fell asleep, totally oblivious to blood-borne illnesses and STD's.
We got a chance to talk to our baby's surrogate milk donor. It turned out she was a nurse at Primary Children's Hospital. She worked with children who had compromised immune systems. She had regular blood work done for her job. She told us we couldn't ask for a better milk donor. Somehow I believed her.
I sometimes wonder if what we considered to be an act of complete stupidity didn't help our son. Maybe she passed an important antibody to our son. Maybe his surrogate milk donor helped him avoid a serious disease. Sometimes what seems like a curse is really a blessing.
We ate at that steak-house again with our three kids last month. We ordered a whole cow that time. I avoided the temptation to order a miniature bottle of breast milk.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Who's breastmilk is in my freezer?
I work from home and I eat lunch around two in the afternoon. Today at around 1:45 p.m. I opened the freezer door with my left hand and the refrigerator door with my right to take in the full view of available snackage. I had in mind to get some hot-pockets but was distracted by what looked like a white rectangular astronaut drink pouch straight from N.A.S.A.
"What the heck is this?" I said out loud to myself. No one was home to hear me. I tipped it over to find a date handwritten in permanent marker on the side. My hand immediately shot back as if it had run into spiderwebs under a couch. It was some one's frozen breast milk container.
I stepped back from the refrigerator and swung the doors shut. I wondered how milk could startle me. We drink four gallons a week at my house, how could a little frozen bag make me jump?
My mind went into overdrive. My youngest is six, so it definitely wasn't from my wife. I tried to figure out how many suckling children had been in my house lately and which one of them left their lunch in my freezer. Overcome with hunger, I gave up on the question and went back to eating.
I decided against the hot pockets. To get to them I would have had to face the astronaut drink pouch in the freezer again. I decided on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The raw materials for that meal were on the other side of the kitchen.
I did, however, eat lunch with a tall ice cold glass of cow's milk. I thought I could use the calcium.
"What the heck is this?" I said out loud to myself. No one was home to hear me. I tipped it over to find a date handwritten in permanent marker on the side. My hand immediately shot back as if it had run into spiderwebs under a couch. It was some one's frozen breast milk container.
I stepped back from the refrigerator and swung the doors shut. I wondered how milk could startle me. We drink four gallons a week at my house, how could a little frozen bag make me jump?
My mind went into overdrive. My youngest is six, so it definitely wasn't from my wife. I tried to figure out how many suckling children had been in my house lately and which one of them left their lunch in my freezer. Overcome with hunger, I gave up on the question and went back to eating.
I decided against the hot pockets. To get to them I would have had to face the astronaut drink pouch in the freezer again. I decided on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The raw materials for that meal were on the other side of the kitchen.
I did, however, eat lunch with a tall ice cold glass of cow's milk. I thought I could use the calcium.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
What makes your life worth living? Why not just roll over and die?
What makes your life worth living. Why not just roll over and die? Here is the list I started before my daughter was born 11 years ago of things that make my life worth living:
1. Emily’s fluttering eyes
2. Puppies
3. Dogs
4. Lizards eating moths after chasing them down
5. Catching really big fish on lakes where there are “no fish”
6. Buying any kind of gear
7. Emily’s curly brown hair
8. Big Stores
9. My mom’s lasagna
10. Back massages
11. Foot massages
12. “Other” massages
13. Sparkling apple cider
14. Pet stores
15. A spotless house
16. Video games
17. Dinosaur toys
18. Rock and Roll
19. Books
20. Jets
21. Building models
22. Shoot ‘em up movies
23. Pet stores
24. Emily’s kisses
25. When it’s so clean you don’t have to wipe
26. Lingerie
27. High test scores
28. Correct answers that were well thought out from difficult questions
29. Bubbles
30. The ocean
31. Being up and working before the sun is
32. Sunrises
33. Fresh snowfall
34. Baseball
35. Reading Stimulating literature
36. Physics
37. Titanic the movie
38. Speaking Russian
39. “You’ve got mail”
40. Nikki-dog
41. Jogging
42. Hiking
43. Sleeping like spoons
44. Rex and Torque the lizards
45. Being right
46. “A’s” (grades not the team)
47. Emily’s cute-sy look
48. Hitting home runs
49. Blocking home plate so well that the runner never gets within two feet of the plate
50. The dream of hitting a baseball into Hartman’s pool from Fohi’s field
51. Carrie’s smiles
52. Carrie’s laugh
53. Baby “bubbles” (the ones they make with drool)
54. Carrie’s blue eyes
55. A good night’s sleep
56. “Jane’s F-15” flight simulator
57. Wingman interceptor flight controller
58. Walks with Carrie
59. Geckos
60. Science
61. Cookie dough and moose tracks ice cream
62. Scouting
63. Sunrises on campouts
64. Toys
65. Toy section at the store
66. Tool section at Sears
67. Victoria’s Secret
68. New books
69. Lizard stuff
70. Bed time
71. Frisbee football
72. Mail order CD’s
73. IBC Root beer
74. Reptiles magazine
75. Jogging strollers
76. Being Naked
77. Skinny dipping
78. Understanding an entire Chemistry lecture
79. Watching Emily breastfeed
80. Carrie trying to crawl
81. Carrie sticking out her tongue
82. Carrie sucking on her top lip
83. Insects
84. Stars on a clear night
85. Locking the door after work
86. Showing Carrie off
87. Showing off pictures of Carrie
88. Watching live minor league pro baseball games
89. Ballets
90. Ballet goggles
91. The board game Risk
92. James and Blake’s “alliance” in Risk
93. Jurassic Park and Lost World (books and movies)
94. Candlelight dinner after work
95. Carries Crinkly nose
96. Amazon.com
97. Barnesnnoble.com
98. Janes.ea.com
99. Carrie humming while eating
100. Carrie playing chase
101. Carrie Playing peek-a-boo
102. Being able to see the mountains in California (no smog days)
103. When the checkbook balances
104. Payday
105. Carrie saying “dog” and her excited look
106. White-wings paper airplanes
107. Watching lizards eat crickets
108. Seeing Emily dance naked
109. My multi-meter and ammeter
110. Having enough work to make lots of money
111. Having my dad say he’s proud of me.
112. Being satisfied at the end of a day
113. Watching young scouts come together in a time of emergency
114. Christopher’s dimples
115. Looking at Christopher’s eyes
116. Playing anything with Carrie
117. Tic-tac-toe with Carrie
118. Watching the stars with Carrie and having her fall asleep in my arms
119. Commission!
120. 500 crickets in a box on my doorstep (lizard food for my breeding colonies)
121. A Blake-clean house
122. Fixing a problem in record time with no hang-ups
123. Kristine’s hugs
124. Snapping my sister’s bra
125. My dad’s handshake and smile after shooting my first deer
126. Craftsman tools
127. My air compressor and shop vac
128. Root beer
129. Macaroons
130. Emily’s lasagna
131. Em in a bikini
132. Long talks with my mom at 2-4 am
133. Monetary gratuity
134. Watching Carrie hold up her snake saying “FUFFY” (the snake’s name was Fluffy)
135. Hearing Carrie say “Izard” when she wants to go to the garage to hold the lizards and watching her hold both hands out in anticipation
136. Em’s long hair
137. When Em packs a lunch for me
138. Seeing Evan get married
139. Christopher’s “Webster” laugh
140. Watching Chris run
141. Tickling my kids
142. Chris running to me with two bar clamps, handing me one and making a light –saber clashing noise
143. Chris’ fascination with airplanes
144. Chris saying “ug” when he sees a bug
145. Carrie and Chris’ workbench
146. Model rockets
147. Being the one in the neighborhood the boys catch snakes for
148. Carrie calling me at work and saying with a gasp, “Uhhh! It’s Daddy!”
149. My outdoor fish pond
150. Reading
151. Getting my college diploma
152. Business potential
153. Hummingbirds fighting over my yard
154. The way it feels when a goldfish nips at your finger
155. Chris’ black eyes
156. Big, well-trained German Shepherds
157. Getting certified to work with Freon
158. Being out of debt
159. The “Bed of Roses” Soundtrack
160. My three car garage
161. My rocket launching system
162. The first house we bid on falling through (got us in this house)
163. This house working out
164. My reptile room
165. Being the only Russian speaking appliance repairman with a Bachelor’s of Science in Animal Science in the entire world.
166. Smallville
167. Adam Sandler movies
168. The dog run
169. Automated sprinklers
170. Movie family night at the outdoor amphitheater in Ogden
171. Palm pilots
172. Glide recovery rockets
173. Radio shack
174. Finding out that Em is pregnant
175. Riding lawn mowers
176. Knowing that reptiles are coming out of hibernation
177. Snake tongs
178. Lizard nooses
179. Affecting young men in a positive way
180. Sports cars
181. Big trucks
182. Jars of Clay: Little Drummer boy song
183. Rocky Movies
184. The undying resolve to never give up
185. Staying up late to think
186. Chris standing by my bed and staring when I wake up
187. Carrie’s smiles
188. Riding Garden Tractors
189. Fixing microwaves in my shop
190. Garden tractor wagons
191. Egg lofting rocket competitions
192. Rock-sim software
193. Father-son campouts
194. Carrie smiling and sprinting to me across the yard when she see’s I’m home
195. Hearing the pipes in the basement crackle and knowing Emily is getting out of the bathtub
196. Coleman falling asleep in my basement office with a blanket
197. Hitting waffle balls with kids
198. Air rockets
199. Winning the egg-lofting contest
200. Geocaching
201. Breaking records with my business
202. Seeing a competitor’s magnet on the refrigerator I’m working on.
203. “Escape-pod adventures”
204. Dutch oven cooking for family
205. Chris wanting to play computer games
206. Chris asking if today is a work day and me saying ”no”.
207. E-bay
208. Being my own boss
209. Creating a successful business
210. Knowing my competition
211. Taking my dog backpacking
212. Air-shows
213. The F-22
214. Central air (don’t have yet)…so Swamp coolers
215. When my yard is topped off
216. Finding good employees
217. Baying bills the day they come
218. Netflix
219. Jennifer Garner movies
220. Girls with Sai’s (the weapon)
221. Glocks
222. Concealed carry permits
223. Tactical batons
224. Light/laser attachment for Glocks
225. Walking on a frozen lake
226. Ice fishing
227. Sonar
228. “The Pelican” 10 foot plastic boat
229. Cache doing a 200 yard blind retrieve
230. Cache coming out of thick brush with a duck in his mouth
231. Watching Carrie catch a 6 pound 3 ounce Wiper – her first fish
232. Watching Chris catch his first fish, a rainbow trout, through the ice
233. 15 passenger vans
234. Klondike campouts
235. People asking who trained my dog
236. Taking my dog into restaurants as a service dog
237. Headlamp flashlights
238. Butterfly crescent kicks
239. Step up side kicks
240. Sparring
241. Watching Carrie spar against two boys
242. Sparring with Emily
243. Gina Carano fights
244. The ferrets attacking Emily’s socks
245. The ferrets stealing tennis balls.
246. Coleman asking if we can cuddle
247. Coleman wanting to help fix his bike so he can ride
1. Emily’s fluttering eyes
2. Puppies
3. Dogs
4. Lizards eating moths after chasing them down
5. Catching really big fish on lakes where there are “no fish”
6. Buying any kind of gear
7. Emily’s curly brown hair
8. Big Stores
9. My mom’s lasagna
10. Back massages
11. Foot massages
12. “Other” massages
13. Sparkling apple cider
14. Pet stores
15. A spotless house
16. Video games
17. Dinosaur toys
18. Rock and Roll
19. Books
20. Jets
21. Building models
22. Shoot ‘em up movies
23. Pet stores
24. Emily’s kisses
25. When it’s so clean you don’t have to wipe
26. Lingerie
27. High test scores
28. Correct answers that were well thought out from difficult questions
29. Bubbles
30. The ocean
31. Being up and working before the sun is
32. Sunrises
33. Fresh snowfall
34. Baseball
35. Reading Stimulating literature
36. Physics
37. Titanic the movie
38. Speaking Russian
39. “You’ve got mail”
40. Nikki-dog
41. Jogging
42. Hiking
43. Sleeping like spoons
44. Rex and Torque the lizards
45. Being right
46. “A’s” (grades not the team)
47. Emily’s cute-sy look
48. Hitting home runs
49. Blocking home plate so well that the runner never gets within two feet of the plate
50. The dream of hitting a baseball into Hartman’s pool from Fohi’s field
51. Carrie’s smiles
52. Carrie’s laugh
53. Baby “bubbles” (the ones they make with drool)
54. Carrie’s blue eyes
55. A good night’s sleep
56. “Jane’s F-15” flight simulator
57. Wingman interceptor flight controller
58. Walks with Carrie
59. Geckos
60. Science
61. Cookie dough and moose tracks ice cream
62. Scouting
63. Sunrises on campouts
64. Toys
65. Toy section at the store
66. Tool section at Sears
67. Victoria’s Secret
68. New books
69. Lizard stuff
70. Bed time
71. Frisbee football
72. Mail order CD’s
73. IBC Root beer
74. Reptiles magazine
75. Jogging strollers
76. Being Naked
77. Skinny dipping
78. Understanding an entire Chemistry lecture
79. Watching Emily breastfeed
80. Carrie trying to crawl
81. Carrie sticking out her tongue
82. Carrie sucking on her top lip
83. Insects
84. Stars on a clear night
85. Locking the door after work
86. Showing Carrie off
87. Showing off pictures of Carrie
88. Watching live minor league pro baseball games
89. Ballets
90. Ballet goggles
91. The board game Risk
92. James and Blake’s “alliance” in Risk
93. Jurassic Park and Lost World (books and movies)
94. Candlelight dinner after work
95. Carries Crinkly nose
96. Amazon.com
97. Barnesnnoble.com
98. Janes.ea.com
99. Carrie humming while eating
100. Carrie playing chase
101. Carrie Playing peek-a-boo
102. Being able to see the mountains in California (no smog days)
103. When the checkbook balances
104. Payday
105. Carrie saying “dog” and her excited look
106. White-wings paper airplanes
107. Watching lizards eat crickets
108. Seeing Emily dance naked
109. My multi-meter and ammeter
110. Having enough work to make lots of money
111. Having my dad say he’s proud of me.
112. Being satisfied at the end of a day
113. Watching young scouts come together in a time of emergency
114. Christopher’s dimples
115. Looking at Christopher’s eyes
116. Playing anything with Carrie
117. Tic-tac-toe with Carrie
118. Watching the stars with Carrie and having her fall asleep in my arms
119. Commission!
120. 500 crickets in a box on my doorstep (lizard food for my breeding colonies)
121. A Blake-clean house
122. Fixing a problem in record time with no hang-ups
123. Kristine’s hugs
124. Snapping my sister’s bra
125. My dad’s handshake and smile after shooting my first deer
126. Craftsman tools
127. My air compressor and shop vac
128. Root beer
129. Macaroons
130. Emily’s lasagna
131. Em in a bikini
132. Long talks with my mom at 2-4 am
133. Monetary gratuity
134. Watching Carrie hold up her snake saying “FUFFY” (the snake’s name was Fluffy)
135. Hearing Carrie say “Izard” when she wants to go to the garage to hold the lizards and watching her hold both hands out in anticipation
136. Em’s long hair
137. When Em packs a lunch for me
138. Seeing Evan get married
139. Christopher’s “Webster” laugh
140. Watching Chris run
141. Tickling my kids
142. Chris running to me with two bar clamps, handing me one and making a light –saber clashing noise
143. Chris’ fascination with airplanes
144. Chris saying “ug” when he sees a bug
145. Carrie and Chris’ workbench
146. Model rockets
147. Being the one in the neighborhood the boys catch snakes for
148. Carrie calling me at work and saying with a gasp, “Uhhh! It’s Daddy!”
149. My outdoor fish pond
150. Reading
151. Getting my college diploma
152. Business potential
153. Hummingbirds fighting over my yard
154. The way it feels when a goldfish nips at your finger
155. Chris’ black eyes
156. Big, well-trained German Shepherds
157. Getting certified to work with Freon
158. Being out of debt
159. The “Bed of Roses” Soundtrack
160. My three car garage
161. My rocket launching system
162. The first house we bid on falling through (got us in this house)
163. This house working out
164. My reptile room
165. Being the only Russian speaking appliance repairman with a Bachelor’s of Science in Animal Science in the entire world.
166. Smallville
167. Adam Sandler movies
168. The dog run
169. Automated sprinklers
170. Movie family night at the outdoor amphitheater in Ogden
171. Palm pilots
172. Glide recovery rockets
173. Radio shack
174. Finding out that Em is pregnant
175. Riding lawn mowers
176. Knowing that reptiles are coming out of hibernation
177. Snake tongs
178. Lizard nooses
179. Affecting young men in a positive way
180. Sports cars
181. Big trucks
182. Jars of Clay: Little Drummer boy song
183. Rocky Movies
184. The undying resolve to never give up
185. Staying up late to think
186. Chris standing by my bed and staring when I wake up
187. Carrie’s smiles
188. Riding Garden Tractors
189. Fixing microwaves in my shop
190. Garden tractor wagons
191. Egg lofting rocket competitions
192. Rock-sim software
193. Father-son campouts
194. Carrie smiling and sprinting to me across the yard when she see’s I’m home
195. Hearing the pipes in the basement crackle and knowing Emily is getting out of the bathtub
196. Coleman falling asleep in my basement office with a blanket
197. Hitting waffle balls with kids
198. Air rockets
199. Winning the egg-lofting contest
200. Geocaching
201. Breaking records with my business
202. Seeing a competitor’s magnet on the refrigerator I’m working on.
203. “Escape-pod adventures”
204. Dutch oven cooking for family
205. Chris wanting to play computer games
206. Chris asking if today is a work day and me saying ”no”.
207. E-bay
208. Being my own boss
209. Creating a successful business
210. Knowing my competition
211. Taking my dog backpacking
212. Air-shows
213. The F-22
214. Central air (don’t have yet)…so Swamp coolers
215. When my yard is topped off
216. Finding good employees
217. Baying bills the day they come
218. Netflix
219. Jennifer Garner movies
220. Girls with Sai’s (the weapon)
221. Glocks
222. Concealed carry permits
223. Tactical batons
224. Light/laser attachment for Glocks
225. Walking on a frozen lake
226. Ice fishing
227. Sonar
228. “The Pelican” 10 foot plastic boat
229. Cache doing a 200 yard blind retrieve
230. Cache coming out of thick brush with a duck in his mouth
231. Watching Carrie catch a 6 pound 3 ounce Wiper – her first fish
232. Watching Chris catch his first fish, a rainbow trout, through the ice
233. 15 passenger vans
234. Klondike campouts
235. People asking who trained my dog
236. Taking my dog into restaurants as a service dog
237. Headlamp flashlights
238. Butterfly crescent kicks
239. Step up side kicks
240. Sparring
241. Watching Carrie spar against two boys
242. Sparring with Emily
243. Gina Carano fights
244. The ferrets attacking Emily’s socks
245. The ferrets stealing tennis balls.
246. Coleman asking if we can cuddle
247. Coleman wanting to help fix his bike so he can ride
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Sardines and six-year-olds
It must be close to payday because we are down to sardines and crackers for lunch.
Actually, payday was supposed to be last Friday but we are self-employed and there is no money to pay ourselves yet. So, we are eating the sardines from our food storage.
Actually, I am the only one who eats sardines. They remind me of camp outs as a teenager. I don't know why we thought sardines were good camping food. They are messy, they stink up the campsite, and invite bears. Then you are stuck with the stupid can and the blade of a lid trying to stab you until you get back home to a real trash can.
My six-year-old was fascinated by his father eating whole fish on crackers and he wanted to try some. With salt. (Because everything is better with salt!) He got his own can and stuck his finger through the loop. He pulled pin, detonating the sardine juice grenade. Sardine shrapnel flew onto the table and onto the shirt he was planning on wearing to afternoon Kindergarten. Yes, my kid is the stinky kid in class.
After cleaning up the carnage, we built a sardine sandwich. I watched his face closely. His eyes were full of trepidation as he stared at the cracker coffin with a fish on top. He looked like he wouldn't have been surprised if the fish started flopping around and hopped right off the table. It took him a second to gather enough courage to try it. He stuck his tongue out and touched it to the side of the fish.
"Dad, it's cold." He said, surprised.
"Of course it's cold. You don't warm up sardines."
He took a little bite and chewed with a pucker on his lips. I waited to see if he would run for the trash can or keep it down. He swallowed and took a bigger bite. With the full sardine flavor in his mouth he squinted. I handed him another cracker to neutralize the taste. He finished his snack and looked up at me, wiping the fish juices on his shirt with his fingers fully extended.
"Dad, I don't really like sardines." He said. "But it is sure fun to open the cans."
Actually, payday was supposed to be last Friday but we are self-employed and there is no money to pay ourselves yet. So, we are eating the sardines from our food storage.
Actually, I am the only one who eats sardines. They remind me of camp outs as a teenager. I don't know why we thought sardines were good camping food. They are messy, they stink up the campsite, and invite bears. Then you are stuck with the stupid can and the blade of a lid trying to stab you until you get back home to a real trash can.
My six-year-old was fascinated by his father eating whole fish on crackers and he wanted to try some. With salt. (Because everything is better with salt!) He got his own can and stuck his finger through the loop. He pulled pin, detonating the sardine juice grenade. Sardine shrapnel flew onto the table and onto the shirt he was planning on wearing to afternoon Kindergarten. Yes, my kid is the stinky kid in class.
After cleaning up the carnage, we built a sardine sandwich. I watched his face closely. His eyes were full of trepidation as he stared at the cracker coffin with a fish on top. He looked like he wouldn't have been surprised if the fish started flopping around and hopped right off the table. It took him a second to gather enough courage to try it. He stuck his tongue out and touched it to the side of the fish.
"Dad, it's cold." He said, surprised.
"Of course it's cold. You don't warm up sardines."
He took a little bite and chewed with a pucker on his lips. I waited to see if he would run for the trash can or keep it down. He swallowed and took a bigger bite. With the full sardine flavor in his mouth he squinted. I handed him another cracker to neutralize the taste. He finished his snack and looked up at me, wiping the fish juices on his shirt with his fingers fully extended.
"Dad, I don't really like sardines." He said. "But it is sure fun to open the cans."
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Did it bite me?
It was late Friday night. My wife and I were cuddling on the couch and enjoying a movie. The kids were in bed, asleep. It was 9:00 p.m. and the sun was setting. We heard voices on the driveway and I paused the movie to see what was going on.
I peaked out the window and saw five boys crouched in a tight circle on my driveway. I opened the front door and called out, "Hey there gentlemen. What are you up to tonight?"
"We know you like snakes so we brought you one."
I smiled and skipped down from the porch over to the breaking huddle. I looked down in the twilight and felt my heart stop for a second. My smile evaporated. They were all in striking distance of a baby rattlesnake.
"Boys get back that's a rattler." I tried to say with a calm tone.
The boys shifted back and the rattler coiled up.
"Did it bite me? Did it bite me?" One of the boys yelled out as he patted himself down like a spider was in his shirt.
"If it bit you you'd know it. Stay back. How did you get it on my driveway?"
"It was slithering across the street. It didn't rattle at us, so we thought it wasn't poisonous. I took my shirt off and threw it over the snake and bundled it up. It was just a block away from here."
"See its tail? When they hatch there is no rattle. Every time they shed they get a new knob and the knobs rattle against themselves when they shake their tails. Look at the jaw, see how it looks like a pit-bull? A head like that means it's venomous. Watch it for a second while I get my snake tongs out of the garage. Stay back!"
I returned moments later and put the rattler in a red five-gallon bucket with a twist on lid that was used as a shield. I decided to keep the snake intact. I needed to teach my kids what kind of snake was too dangerous to handle. I filled the bucket with water and drowned the rattler. I had leftover formaldehyde from college. I used it to bottle the snake in a mason jar.
An hour after we paused our movie, I presented the bottle to my wife. She kept her distance as if the snake was still a danger to her in the jar. I showed it to my kids in the morning. They gained a new appreciation for something that lived near our home.
A couple of months later, while I was shopping, I came across a robotic rattlesnake that was motion activated. It hissed, it's head struck, and the tail rattled when you passed in front of it. I couldn't resist buying it and placing it in the refrigerator to scare my spouse. It has scared her every time I put it in there. I think she liked it because she never threw it away, she just threw it at me. Those are good times dodging toy rattlesnakes from a scared wife. I think it's about time to get that toy out of storage again.
NOTE: Every year I get called in to catch one or two rattlesnakes from neighborhood yards. Those snakes get to ride in the red bucket to the top of the canyon where they are released back into the wilderness. Many people have learned about rattlesnakes and their benefits through the bottled specimen.
I peaked out the window and saw five boys crouched in a tight circle on my driveway. I opened the front door and called out, "Hey there gentlemen. What are you up to tonight?"
"We know you like snakes so we brought you one."
I smiled and skipped down from the porch over to the breaking huddle. I looked down in the twilight and felt my heart stop for a second. My smile evaporated. They were all in striking distance of a baby rattlesnake.
"Boys get back that's a rattler." I tried to say with a calm tone.
The boys shifted back and the rattler coiled up.
"Did it bite me? Did it bite me?" One of the boys yelled out as he patted himself down like a spider was in his shirt.
"If it bit you you'd know it. Stay back. How did you get it on my driveway?"
"It was slithering across the street. It didn't rattle at us, so we thought it wasn't poisonous. I took my shirt off and threw it over the snake and bundled it up. It was just a block away from here."
"See its tail? When they hatch there is no rattle. Every time they shed they get a new knob and the knobs rattle against themselves when they shake their tails. Look at the jaw, see how it looks like a pit-bull? A head like that means it's venomous. Watch it for a second while I get my snake tongs out of the garage. Stay back!"
I returned moments later and put the rattler in a red five-gallon bucket with a twist on lid that was used as a shield. I decided to keep the snake intact. I needed to teach my kids what kind of snake was too dangerous to handle. I filled the bucket with water and drowned the rattler. I had leftover formaldehyde from college. I used it to bottle the snake in a mason jar.
An hour after we paused our movie, I presented the bottle to my wife. She kept her distance as if the snake was still a danger to her in the jar. I showed it to my kids in the morning. They gained a new appreciation for something that lived near our home.
A couple of months later, while I was shopping, I came across a robotic rattlesnake that was motion activated. It hissed, it's head struck, and the tail rattled when you passed in front of it. I couldn't resist buying it and placing it in the refrigerator to scare my spouse. It has scared her every time I put it in there. I think she liked it because she never threw it away, she just threw it at me. Those are good times dodging toy rattlesnakes from a scared wife. I think it's about time to get that toy out of storage again.
NOTE: Every year I get called in to catch one or two rattlesnakes from neighborhood yards. Those snakes get to ride in the red bucket to the top of the canyon where they are released back into the wilderness. Many people have learned about rattlesnakes and their benefits through the bottled specimen.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Boys, flint and steel, and smoke
We just got home from our annual Father-Son camp-out with our Cub Scout pack, Boy Scout troop, and all the younger brothers.
I got there early with my boys. We set up the battery powered foam ball pitching machine. We enjoyed a couple of hours of batting practice before dinner was served. We ate chicken and chips and drank lemonade before the boys formed up by age group and disappeared. Some of the older boys went back to the pitching machine. A Nerf football game started, and some boys were playing laser tag. I sat down in the shade to rest for a few minutes in a collapsible blue camping chair. I chatted with a couple of the other dads that were there. We were discussing the subtle taste differences in the new Pepsi compared to when it was made with cane sugar. I can't taste the difference.
Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A cloud of white smoke funneled up from a grove of trees next to the picnic tables. Through the trunks of the aspens I made out the shape of half a dozen younger boys surrounding a small fire.
I looked over at the dad next to me. His eyes met mine and he said, "Don't look at me, my boys are grown up, that's gotta be your kids." He laughed a nostalgic chuckle that made me look forward to being a couple of decades older.
I pushed myself up from the chair and trotted over to the plume of smoke. My six-year-old was crouched down next to a small circle of rocks they used to make a fire pit. He was feeding the small fire one pine needle at a time with a look of pure delight on his face.
"What are you boys doing?" I asked.
"Brock's Dad said we could start a fire." My son looked up with no guilt in his eyes. He was either becoming a seasoned liar, or he truly believed he had permission to build a fire.
"I'm pretty sure he didn't want a fire next to all these trees."
"But we brought water to put it out." My son said as he went from crouching to kneeling. He reached for a little Dixie cup full of water. It might have been big enough to hold two shot glasses of liquid.
"I'm glad you are being safe. Poor it on the fire and build a new one in the big fire pit over there." I pointed past my camp seat to the big fire pit.
My son poured the water onto their small fire. I was surprised to see it go out so easily. One of the other boys immediately pulled a flint and steel kit from his pocket and dropped to a knee where he proceeded to launch sparks into the muddy remnants of their fire. His face squinted with determination, like a medic doing CPR on a child, determined to restore the flame of life. After several strikes he let out a deep sigh and his shoulders drooped. I restrained the desire to call out the time of death.
He took another breath and jumped up as the team effort came back to life. "I'll get more pine needles." My son called out.
"I'll get more paper." The boy with the flint and steel responded as he bee-lined for his tent. "Everyone else get more sticks." He yelled over his shoulder as the group scattered.
I went back to my seat. The other dad was still laughing at me. We quit talking about sugar cane and tried to determine how young is too young to give a boy a piece of fire starting equipment. He was pretty adamant that I was still too young for that kind of thing.
I got there early with my boys. We set up the battery powered foam ball pitching machine. We enjoyed a couple of hours of batting practice before dinner was served. We ate chicken and chips and drank lemonade before the boys formed up by age group and disappeared. Some of the older boys went back to the pitching machine. A Nerf football game started, and some boys were playing laser tag. I sat down in the shade to rest for a few minutes in a collapsible blue camping chair. I chatted with a couple of the other dads that were there. We were discussing the subtle taste differences in the new Pepsi compared to when it was made with cane sugar. I can't taste the difference.
Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A cloud of white smoke funneled up from a grove of trees next to the picnic tables. Through the trunks of the aspens I made out the shape of half a dozen younger boys surrounding a small fire.
I looked over at the dad next to me. His eyes met mine and he said, "Don't look at me, my boys are grown up, that's gotta be your kids." He laughed a nostalgic chuckle that made me look forward to being a couple of decades older.
I pushed myself up from the chair and trotted over to the plume of smoke. My six-year-old was crouched down next to a small circle of rocks they used to make a fire pit. He was feeding the small fire one pine needle at a time with a look of pure delight on his face.
"What are you boys doing?" I asked.
"Brock's Dad said we could start a fire." My son looked up with no guilt in his eyes. He was either becoming a seasoned liar, or he truly believed he had permission to build a fire.
"I'm pretty sure he didn't want a fire next to all these trees."
"But we brought water to put it out." My son said as he went from crouching to kneeling. He reached for a little Dixie cup full of water. It might have been big enough to hold two shot glasses of liquid.
"I'm glad you are being safe. Poor it on the fire and build a new one in the big fire pit over there." I pointed past my camp seat to the big fire pit.
My son poured the water onto their small fire. I was surprised to see it go out so easily. One of the other boys immediately pulled a flint and steel kit from his pocket and dropped to a knee where he proceeded to launch sparks into the muddy remnants of their fire. His face squinted with determination, like a medic doing CPR on a child, determined to restore the flame of life. After several strikes he let out a deep sigh and his shoulders drooped. I restrained the desire to call out the time of death.
He took another breath and jumped up as the team effort came back to life. "I'll get more pine needles." My son called out.
"I'll get more paper." The boy with the flint and steel responded as he bee-lined for his tent. "Everyone else get more sticks." He yelled over his shoulder as the group scattered.
I went back to my seat. The other dad was still laughing at me. We quit talking about sugar cane and tried to determine how young is too young to give a boy a piece of fire starting equipment. He was pretty adamant that I was still too young for that kind of thing.
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