Do I know how to pick em, or what...

I do brag endlessly...

about what a good guy I picked to procreate with.

Those created all made sure yesterday to let their ol man (Daddio, the man, the myth, the legend) know how good they had it, and continue to have it with him as their dad.

His best girl showered him with love (and some really soft and cozy lounge around shorts and a CD, which she kindly gave to me to give to him (I will reimburse you honey, I promise :)...a sappy card and of course she hugged him round the neck, nice and tight like only girl children can do.

In addition to all that nice stuff Daddio also received a separate card from Googie's Trouble claiming (in writing) that Daddio was the best father-in-law he ever had (smart azz..tee-hee).

For all the world to see Bear posted a pic of he and his "Pops" on Facebook... knowing full well he'd get lots of awwwww's when people saw it.

(and that he did)

The Sweet Prince Buttercup wrote in the card he gave his dad... "Thank you for turning me into a good man"....

Now that just about says it all, doesn't it.

Daddio, you and your love did all that.

Enjoy reaping what you've sown, you  more than earned every single "good job" and "thank you" you will ever get from our children.

xoxo

It sucks (BIG TIME) when you miss your calling....

My New Year's post hinted at the possibility that maybe, just maybe someday in the foreseeable future I could and may be possibly spinning a wonderful tale that talked about Daddio's recovery from his tactile issues....

it ain't gonna happen, not now, probably not ever.

Shit My Dad says is a Twitter account owned by a twenty somethin guy named Justin...he has over 700,000 followers.

Loyal fans who tune in daily (and more) to read about the crazy shit his dad says...

Snippets of odd ball comments the old man makes. 

What the hell was I thinking...????? I could have authored this nonsense..

and called it Shit Daddio Says...

I'd be floatin in dough right now.

Jason recounts his dad's diddies Tweet style...140 characters, each one giggly worthy.

Jason's Dad could be Redd Foxx's Fred E. Sanford, Archie Bunker, George Jefferson and that goofy guy from Curb Your Enthusiasm all rolled into one...

So much like my precious Daddio, it's positively creepy.

I bought Daddio a leather jacket for Christmas...this may be the 25th leather jacket that Daddio has owned and tried to like.

He had one leather (only one) that he really loved.

Of course it went out of style along with his Duran Duran hair over 20 years ago.

So I'm always on the lookout for another that he will love as much.

And this last one wasn't it.

"What's wrong with the jacket?" I asked, noticing that he kept pushing it aside in the closet, choosing other jackets instead.

"It fits me like I'm wearing a grass catcher" he explained.

"A grass catcher..?" he had me puzzled.

"What the hell is a grass catcher"

"The thing on the lawn mower that collects the mowed grass" he replied.

Ohh brother...seriously... seriously?

Your jacket is a grass catcher...?

I missed my calling.

Dammit it all...I freakin missed my frickin calling.

You have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face when the clerk asked my "reason for return"...

Yesterday morning Daddio put on his shirt and complained about about the button "local"..."look" he said.. "see how this buckles a bit here?" pulling at the collar of his dress shirt.."the button should be higher so it lays down"

"You want me to safety pin it closed" I offer, biting my bottom lip hard in an attempt to keep my hysterical laughter to myself.

"You really should become a clothing designer" I say "you most certainly missed your calling".

"Yeah and I'd get the shit right" he boasts.

Daddio tells me that the first thing he would design is a pair of long johns that had a crotch for a normal man... "first of all", he says, grabbing the extra 4 yards of material hanging from his crotch to his knees...

"I wouldn't have this spare blob right here" he says.

"Look....look how they bag".

"These things are made to fit a small gorilla or a monkey"...

Good Lord.... Calvin Koby?

Daddio Versace...?

Frick. 

We both missed the boat no freakin doubt about it.

Diary of a mad housewife....

Dear diary,

We have another mouse in our house.

Another mouse in our house.

(Dear Googie....if you are reading this and I have not yet spoken to you about this intruder...forgive me, it was too early to wake you up and scare you...hope you will forgive me. Walk hard and carry a big stick.... Love, Mom)

Have I told you lately how much I hate small things that sneak about my house (uninvited) and threaten to jump and run and scare the bejesus outta me?

I'm sure by now you know that I'm so jumpy I have to leave the room when the loveables are making anything using those damned canned biscuits that POP when you least expect it.

And my heart stops when a Jack in the Box blows...

It sucks being this jumpy..."a hen on a hot griddle" (my stepmom's description).

So from now on, until this creature is found I have to stomp (to make lots of noise) around my house wearing Daddio's old Doc Martin boots.

I'll be cringing before I sit down on the pot in the middle of the night....

I have no doubt, (none whatsoever) that Mighty Mouse/Rat can swim...or maybe float on some toilet paper left unflushed....

waiting to strike, to take a nibble.

We learned of this particular mouse when Bear and his girlfriend came up from the cave to report that they'd seen a creature running above their heads across the large square fluorescent light fixture....

"It had a huge, long tail" said the Devine Miss M,

"It might have been a rat"...

"Mouse? Rat? What the hell is the difference?

(Please..don't anyone write to tell me, thank you)

Daddio got out of bed and went to the area of the sighting, mouse trap in hand.

"THAT" he said pointing to a (very) small pile of white clothes laundry sitting on the basement floor next to the washing machine..."that right there is WHY we have a MOUSE in this HOUSE"

"Huh?" said I.

"They like dirty laundry?"

"They like moisture" he snapped.

"And that is why they are down here, because we  (that means me) have laundry laying all over the place"....

(Ohhhh freakin brother....)

After he set the trap he came upstairs and began cleaning the two or three small dessert plates left in the sink by the kids.

He cleaned every crumb from the counters.

I waited to see if he was going to sweep the floor too...(he didn't).

Later, back in bed, he told me that part of the problem is that we leave the dog food out.

"We used to pick it up off the floor at night" he reminded me.

(Previous uninvited mouse folk have eaten a chunk out of an ugly ugly green sweater that I left laying in the basement on a pile of other crap I didn't want, the beard of a really cool Santa that I got for 50% off at Michaels at an after Christmas sale, they also ate part of a foreign dollar bill that I'd been saving for years, and they even chewed up a hunk of pink fiberglass insulation...)

"I really don't think they are all that picky" I said to Daddio (remember??? you just told me that they eat dirty white towels and underwear off the basement floor??)

I tried to mentally add the cost of purchasing enough plastic storage bins to box up all our crap...

(We'd need to win the lottery.)

"They are after your pantry" Daddio said quietly before he went to sleep,

and just as he was about to drift off....

"they can smell all those things you have in there...those spices".

In my head I sing my sweet Knight in Shining Armor, the Mighty Mouse Hunter a good night lullaby...

"Have I told you lately that I love yooooo, have I told yoooooou there's no one else above yoooooou, fill my heart with laughter (FREAKIN,hysterical laughter.....)...shooooobeeeedobeedooobeeedoooobeeedo"

"Why are you shakin the bed???"

Whats love got to do with it?.......

Daddio is a man who likes what he likes.

He's been known to send me on a shopping mission with a few instructions.....

"Can you find me a shirt with a 1/2 inch collar, not one of those big clown collars or a pointy one. I hate those real pointy collars. It needs to be fitted. You know I don't like wearing something that feels like a mumu. Like I'm wearing a big box. I'd rather it be a solid color. But not one of those weird colors you like. The material needs to not be too thick,  but not too thin either. If it's too soft it will feel like a slip. I hate feeling like I'm wearing a woman's slip. Make sure the button at the top is not so high that it will choke me. Maybe a green one would be okay. But not the light green that looks like a leprechaun, that color sucks. I don't want any stretchy crap in it either, all cotton would be good. Maybe one that is not a wrinkled mess when it comes out of the dryer. Make sure you get long sleeves, I don't want my tattoos to show. Two buttons would be nice on the cuff, make it a small cuff, I can't stand those big cuffs, roll em up and they feel like a notebook on your forearm".

Ummm sure.

(I'm thinking of searching for the Holy Grail at the same time)

He's finicky about his lunches too...

He knows what he wants.

He can go hours and hours at work without any food...(you may have read my post about him needing to eat every two hours like a newborn, well that is only when he's home, or maybe it's only when he sees me...the sight of me makes him hungry...like a nursing newborn),

anyway, I try (every day) to pack him something good to eat.

"What did you put in there?" he asks pointing to his lunch box.

Before I can answer he flips open the top and starts thumbing through the contents.

"I don't want this" he says...

"or this,

or this either."

Soon Daddio has a box filled with two bottled waters, and an apple.

Lunch fit for a king.

This morning I was planning on slipping in a sub sandwich and some red grapes.

A ham, salami, two kinds of cheese, pickles, tomatoes, mustard and a little dab of salt and pepper sub...yummmm

He walked into the kitchen while I was wrapping it up.

"Is that for me?" he asks.

"Cut it into small pieces" he instructs.

"So I can eat it while I work"

(by the time I had it cut into small pieces it was a slimy slippery mess)

"You don't have any sauce on there do you?" he yells from the living room.

"I don't want to get all sticky".

I admit that there is mustard on the sub... but I don't disclose that there are slippery pickles and I keep mum about the messy tomatoes.

He's wearing a nice solid colored not too thick not too thin 1/2 inch collared two small button sleeved green shirt and he looks nice and fresh.

I can hear it now....

"That sub dripped all over me." he will say when he comes home tonight " And it gave me a stomach ache. Don't pack me any other stuff like that to eat anymore, okay?"

"Only an apple and some grapes."

"Grapes are always good."

"Except for today...the ones you put in there today were too juicy. I need to have grapes that don't shoot out of the bottom of the casing. Or squirt when I pull them off the vine. Look at my shirt, I have grape spray all over me."

"What's for dinner?"

"Don't give me too much, I don't like those thick hamburgers, they sit in my stomach like a lead weight. I'll take a salad, but don't put any cheese in it okay, I had enough cheese today at lunch. Yeah, there was a lot of cheese on the drippy sub you sent me. Do we only have those cheap hamburger buns? I hate those buns, there's something not right with those buns, they stay in the cupboard for a month and they are still soft, but they stink. Do they make thin buns? Buns with not so much bread? You know what, don't even bother with a bun, I'll eat it on a plate. That's too much food. I only want a little bit. I think you're trying to kill me. You feed me too much."

"I ate it all, and now I'm too full. That was a lot of food on the plate you know. I think tomorrow I'm going vegetarian".

"No meat for me tomorrow"

"You have to like vegetables to be a vegetarian" I tell him.

"And when you don't eat meat, you are hungry an hour later" I remind him.

"Well maybe we could try to eat some fish." I suggest.

"I can't eat fish, you ever look at a fish up close? Maybe there is some kind of meat that isn't so heavy? Isn't so meaty?"

Jesus, grant me strength.

Down in the valley.....

Daddio had what you might call a wild hair up his butt this weekend. His stomach hurt and he is tired of staying home and not having a bona fide job.

Hmmm, I’d say being the Stay At Home is a bona fide job. A noble profession. A calling even.

I did it for years and for the majority of that time I loved every minute.

There was a minute*, mostly toward the end of my tenure when my thought process often had me thinking..."If shit travels downhill sister, you’re in the valley."

I felt like the housekeeper at the Holiday Inn.

After an all night prom party.

Daddio has obviously already arrived at the afterparty. And it seems he's wallowing in that valley.

He's getting tired of being the “bottle washer”… (he can’t be the chief cook too, because all he knows how to cook is a hot dog, so dinner duty generally still falls to me).

Anyway…Daddio had a few complaints this past Easter weekend.

And they centered around our indoor outhouse.

The potty was a pissy mess.

Not pissy as in pee, well, I’m sure there was a sprinkling of misplaced pee in there somewhere, but that wasn’t what had Daddio’s goat.

I’ve had a few lavatory complaints myself over the years… mine centered around the mysterious white flecks that stuck to my mirrors (Pimple spew? Dental floss fling?)

Whatever it was, the elbow grease that it took to remove it had my upper arms really buff, and so while I cussed out every one and no one in particular as I worked to chisel it off, I  looked at the bright side of the chore.

Daddio’s eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, and in this case that is a blessing because he probably doesn’t even notice any white flecks on the mirror.

He does however notice what he calls toilet paper flakes.

Daddio took me into the bathroom to show me.

“Your kids” he said pointing.

"They grab at the roll, and chip at it...see"

And leave little pieces all over the floor...for me to pick up."

"I also have to dehair the bathtub drain every day"

I googled "Hairest animal on the planet?" (hoping to pin a new name on my baby boy, the main suspect of this bathroom blunder,who's already appropriately nicknamed Bear) and I found this...

The Sea Otter is considered the hairest animal. Helping them to keep warm in the icy waters where they live, certain sea otters have arguably the thickest fur coat of any animal. Another contender would be the musk oxen, that has a thick coat of densely packed coarse hair. However in the unlikely event you pass one in the wild - don't get too close because they stink. They pee on their legs to keep warm and when they sit down the pee is soaked up by their hairy coat - producing the ponk* from hell.

Okay, so I'll have a little convo with our little musk ox.

(I'm totally kidding, that kid takes so many showers and wears so much foo-foo he smells heavenly...I caught a giggle thinking about him peeing down his hairy legs and well... one thing led to another).

Okay, back to my story…eventually I got placed on the "list" too when Daddio came upon my liddle biddie malfeasance.... I left a dead body on the wall. A splat for him to fix.

I'm brave enough to grab a magazine and bold enough to swat..but I can't touch the thing, I can't scoop the splattered guts and still quivering legs into a tissue. I'm scared that it is still alive enough to come after me....

Stranger things have happened.

I promised to have more respect for this man who doesn't love his current job, yet still does it well. I wll make sure we all try and do a better job of helping to keep things looking nice. I can't however make any promises about spider bodies.

I hope he loves me enough to understand.

* Minute: A very long time. (Yo I haven't seen you in a minute!)

*ponk: break wind; guff cut loose; freep; clear the room.

TGIM.......

It's been a strange existence around our house since Daddio has been laid off.

Sundays are especially hard.

I know it's not right, but I am getting an odd little kick out of hearing him say things to the kids, things like "if you'd pick your damn clothes up off of the floor and get them into the hamper (you know....that hamper right outside your bedroom door??) I would wash them for you, everyday, and I wouldn' t be looking at a full hamper every Sunday night, and I wouldn't be trippin over them when I have to go into your room to turn off the fan you left on".

"Fans use electricity, you know".

"And electricity costs money".

"And...your clothes thrown all over the floor, bunched up next to that running fan could cause a fire"

"I don't want any more plates of food brought into your bedroom".

"It's starting to smell like a Denny's in there".

"No wonder we don't have any glasses, they're all under your bed".

"I not surprised you're sick all the time. It can't be healthy breathing all those dirty uniform fumes".

We drive him nuts every weekend. Underfoot. Laying around. Messing up his clean house and his routine.

"I can't wait for Monday" he now says.

I love those times when Daddio seems to "get me".

He now totally understands why I used to get absolutely giddy every Sunday night.

When Ruby gets her period.....

Daddio is a man who takes his responsibilities seriously. Since he’s been laid off I haven’t so much as touched the washing machine, or lugged a heavy, overflowing hamper down two sets of stairs.

I haven’t emptied a bathroom garbage can or vacuumed a floor either.

He’s the kind of guy that gets the job done, whatever that job may be.

He likes to rub it in to me that he’s able somehow to keep the laundry caught up, something I never seemed able to do when I was the Stay At Home Person.

Using his managerial mind he figures out a plan, executes it and just like that we all have clean matching socks and fluffy, perfectly folded towels for our showers…and he still has time for an afternoon snooze.

While the poor guy hates being home, he is making the best of it by doing his best.

But this laid off life is not all it’s cracked up to be and Daddio is starting to show signs of wear.

He’s beginning to have a few words with me about my messes, “Everything was clean, till you walked in”, he says. “You’re like Pigpen…a little cloud of dust follows you everywhere you go”.

The kids are grating on his nerves. “All they do is eat and lay around watching TV”.

And he’s showing signs of getting a teensy tiny bit aggravated by the two small dogs that live in our home. He says things like “if that fu**ing dog looks at me one more time I’m gonna kick her teeth down her throat” and “ I’m gonna let them out the front door to pee this time, hopefully they’ll both run away.”.

Daddio doesn’t hate animals (honestly, he doesn’t) he just hates being laid off.

This morning our dog Ruby is getting spayed. We really shouldn’t be spending the kind of money dog surgery costs right now, but I don’t see that we (I) have any choice.

I have to do this before Ruby gets her period.

Ruby came to us from a not so stable home. She bites her nails and eats her poop. And while I consider her house broken, she still pees in her crate. My girl child is nuts about the dog and promises that when she moves out, the dog is going with her.

In the meantime, Daddio and I are responsible for her upkeep.

Last year about this time we began to notice that something was going on with Ruby. I’m not going to go into graphic detail here but suffice it to say that the dog’s lady bits began to change…they started to grow and before long that area was HUGE…. (HUGE!!!!).

Within days the grape sized body part morphed into a walnut sized dangling bit and was seeping a red fluid and I was wondering how in the hell do responsible pet owners find themselves with a dog in heat???

I was also wondering how in the hell I was going to keep the “heat” off of my carpet, my rugs and my white kitchen floor?

I bought some doggie diapers to contain the mess. Ruby tore them off.

I tried duct taping them and she ate through that too.

Finally I bought a pair of doggie panties and custom cut a women’s panty liner to fit inside. The sticky on the pad allows it to stay in place. The panties have ties on the sides so I could make it snug and that seemed to work okay.

Changing that damn pad was another story….gross, doesn’t even begin to describe it.

This went on for two weeks…..for TWO FREAKIN WEEKS I had to change Ruby’s sanitary napkin, numerous times a day.

I can’t (and I won’t) ask Daddio to do that.

He gets all squiggly and squirmy and does a visible shudder when I even just mention periods or vaginas. His eyes widen and he shakes his head “no” if I so much as begin to talk about that kind of stuff.

I could have had some real fun with Ruby and her period….

“Honey" I would have said before I left for work "Ruby will need to have that pad changed every hour. And when you do, you will need to give her hind quarters a little sit bath, either that or you could use my spritzer water bottle, warm water and a bit of soap…your choice. But it does have to be done every hour…if not, you could find yourself with blood and mess all over the place.”

“Oh, before you start you may want to get the Vicks Vapor Rub and place a dab under your nose…dogs have a gawd awful odor."

“ Be real careful when you pull the pad off, sometimes the stuff just sprays everywhere, and you surely don't want any of that on your hands...stains like crazy.”

Let him dog my homemaking abilities....

Daddio was pretty lucky this time, Pigpen has been known to hold a grudge....

Sleepin double in a single bed......

Daddio is a huge fan of old television shows. He references them often, so when he suggested the other day that we get seperate twin beds to sleep in like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo had, I just shook my head.

“My grandparents slept ass to ass for 52 years and you and I are going to sleep ass to ass for as long as we are together too.”

“I don’t think it’s good for married people to sleep apart” I told him

“Lisa and Oliver Douglas (Green Acres) slept in the same bed and Archie and Edith Bunker did too". 

“Exactly! And both those guys are crabby bastards.”

"I wanna be like Ricky Ricardo.....playing my guitar and singing Babalu, life doesn't get much better than that. And it's all because the guy gets a good nights sleep. He doesn't have to put up with anybody tossing and turning, getting in and out of bed"

"Just a guy and his pillow"..... Daddio said wistfully

The words to Babalu…..(I’m going to have a field day with this one).



CHORUS

Great Babalu!

I'm so lost and forsaken.

Ah, great Babalu!

Bring back the love you've taken.

You can restore all the dreams that once were mine

If only you'll use some mystic sign.

Ah! Great Babalu!

Bring her back to me.

Ah!

I think I may have found a single bed for Daddio...looks like his guitar could fit under it too.

Daddio, a man of many talents......

This morning Daddio called me into the kitchen to tell me that he had something for me......



"It's a special chip" he said proudly as he gently placed the potato chip in my palm.

"Awwww" I said looking at it's awesome shape "It's got a heart in it".

"I bit it that way, just for you" he said with a big smile.

(Later he admitted to lying about crafting the chip...it was all in an effort to impress me he explained when he confessed)