Why Won’t They Do Anything Funny?

I think we’re in a rut.

Nothing exciting is happening.

The house is staying clean.

Demon Spawn has mellowed.

The oldest goes to school, comes home, does his homework, plays his nonviolent/age appropriate video games and goes to bed.

The baby still gets into everything he can but other than an incident involving him drinking hand sanitizer and immediately throwing up everywhere nothing really new or exciting has been happening on that front.

I’m still at home.

My wife is still working.

Maybe I should look at it in a more positive light and say we’ve finally got a good routine down, but when you’re looking for funny things to post about it really feels like less of a positive thing.

Maybe I should start making shit up…



At 3pm this afternoon my home will be getting visited by my four-year old’s soon to be kindergarten teacher.

The house looks as if the interior was devastated by the world most localized and driest tsunami.

I cleaned the house twice yesterday.

I obviously must clean it again today but at what time do I start cleaning as to finish it in time for the teacher’s visit but not give the children enough time to destroy it again?


And just imagine, at one time I used to contemplate philosophy, science, religion and art…

Team Work

I really should be proud that they’ve started working together as opposed to fighting all the time.

And I should be impressed with how clever the plan was.

Because it was clever.

Oh so, so clever.

But the end result, well… I wasn’t pleased.

Everyone else; kids, wife, friends, visiting Nana, they thought it was hysterical.

They thought it was so damn funny…

But when one of your children, your own flesh and blood, the fruit of your battered loins nut punches you just so you’ll double over in pain long enough for another of your despicable brood to shove a spit wetted finger in your ear and shout “wet willy!” at you as you try not to throw-up from the pain…

That’s just…


I mean…



Fuck that kind of team work!

The Dog

About 45 mins after my wife should have been at work she showed up at the door of our house holding what looked like the illicit love child of a black fox and a chihuahua.

“He ran right up to me in the parking lot. He’s so sweet. He’s clean. He seems to be good with kids. He has a collar but there’s no tags. I’m going to try to find his owner. He’s your responsibility until I do. I’ve got to go back to work. Love you, goodbye.”

And then I was standing there holding a small fluffy black dog while two small children ran/crawled around me excitedly yapping.

“Daddy, I want to hold the puppy! Daddy! Puppy daddy! Pup-puppy, puppy puppy, daddy daddy, puppy, let me hold, let me, puppy, daddy hold, puppy pu-puppy pup puppy puppy puppy!”


So I put the dog down and Demon Spawn gently petted him and spoke to him in a quiet, calm voice and told him how this would be his new home. I then explained to Demon Spawn that he was lying to the poor dog. Then Demon spawn cried  and cried.

The baby crawled close to the dog and screamed as loud as he could at it. The dog walked away. The baby crawled close to the dog and screamed as loud as he could at it. The dog walked away. This repeated for a bit. Then the baby felt completely comfortable with the dog and the dog decided that the baby was no real threat, that’s when the baby decided to try and eat the dog.

The baby still somehow has all his fingers.

It’s must be a really good dog.


Things or Stuff

The baby doesn’t want me to do either of the above.

I’m not allowed, as far as the baby is concerned, to do anything involving anything.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I can sit quietly in the recliner awaiting the moment that he demands the use of my lap for milk and naps. I am allowed to do that.

I’m not allowed to stand at all. That is standing to clean, to cook, to make his highness a fresh bottle, to get up to go to the bathroom, ect..

Sitting is also a problem if while in that position I seem as if I’m accomplishing things.

Excuse me, are you doing stuff? You know how I feel about you doing stuff.

If I do have the audacity to attempt things or stuff I get screamed at for the duration of time those things or stuff take.

If my reaction to the screaming is not sufficient he grabs my leg and bites me until I take notice. I now have no beard due to him exhibiting this behavior during a routine facial hair trim.

I seem to be living beneath the drool covered iron fist of a tiny tyrant…

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

A Week of Halloween Hell

It started last Wednesday when my wife brought home the costumes.

“Look Daddy! I’ma Mario, I’ma gonna win!”

“Daddy, It’s a me, Luigi!”

“Dum dum dum da-dum da-dum, da-da da-da da-da dum da-dum da-dum! Did you hear Daddy!?! The Mario theme! Daddy, Daddy, did you here!?! DUM DUM DUM…”

“Look Daddy, a Koopa. I’ll jump on it!”

“OW! Daddy! He called me a Koopa and jumped on me!”

Thursday we hid the costumes.

Friday we went out and got decorations and pumpkins and apple cider and we told the kids that we were going to carve pumpkins and decorate on Saturday and the kids cried and fussed and asked why we couldn’t do it “NOW!” and they wanted to decorate “NOW!”.

Saturday I went and got a bottle of good dark rum to spike my apple cider with.

Sunday we broke out the costumes so we could head to the local renaissance fair for their Halloween weekend festivities, which was sort of like a drug free, candy filled Dead show if the show was held in a village deep within the boundaries of the Nerdling Realm.

Monday was more costume mayhem, but this time fueled with candy acquired from the ren fair.

Yesterday was pretty quiet.

That brings us to today, All Hallows Eve.

The morning started with confusion regarding the rules about my oldest wearing that fucking Mario costume to school, but we managed a compromise that made sure no one was happy and sent him off.

Since waking up my middle child has asked me once every five minutes if it’s trick-or-treat time yet.

And the baby has a case of the poops that has caused him to scream as if he’s been passing razor blades all morning.

I’m not sure what the future holds for the rest of this day but I’m guessing it will include more tears, poop and possibly some vomit.

Happy Halloween.