Watch Your Mouth

This morning I'm getting The Boy ready for school

Me: Okay, we got to go. Put on your jacket please.

The Boy: I don't want a jacket.

Me: You have to wear your jacket.

TB: I'm not cold. I don't want to wear it.

Me: It's cold outside. You have to wear it. You can take it off when you get to school.

TB: I'll take it off in the car.

Me: It's cold in the car too. You can take it off when we get to school. You have to believe me. I'm not just being a dick.

TB: You ARE being a dick!

I couldn't really get mad at him. After all, I said it first. Damn!

It's As Bad As It Tastes

The Boy has some sort of chest infection. So our doctor prescribed a crappy tasting cough syrup and an equally crappy tasting anti-biotic.

We managed to get half the cough syrup and three-quarters of the anti-biotic in him before he barfed it up - along with his dinner. All over his bed, pillow and carpet.

We've got to 14 more doses to get into him over the next week, and I have no idea how we're going to manage it.

Wish us luck!

The Next Ansel Adams

I gave The Boy our old digital camera. Now he takes pictures of all the stuff that's important to him.

I love the innocent in these shots, taken without any consideration to composition, framing or depth. He just shoots the stuff he likes.

And even though some of the shots are taken mere millimeters from the subject, he knows what's in each picture.

Enjoy!

---

Plex The Robot (from Yo Gabba Gabba)



A Coaster


Kermit


Bruno the Puppet


My Parents and Him


Moments Before a Watermelon Snack


Crackers


His 'Pirate' Toque


Red Snapper


Mommy's Leg


I just like this shot


Mom


Dad


Lighting McQueen and Milk and Guacamole


Foot Foot the Cat


Dad


Toy Jeep


Blanket


Toy Jeep #2

YAY!

I may be Canadian, but I'm happy!

Not The Sunday I Expected

Incident #1
I'm lying on the bed suffering (see Issue #2). The Boy is playing behind me.

Suddenly, "PHLAM!"

I bolt over. The Boy looks like a deer caught in the headlights. P's night table and the walls are splattered with orange. It smells sour.

It takes me a second before I realize he has shot off a round of bear spray. I grab The Boy and dash downstairs. He's bawling, but luckily pointed the can away from himself.

I manage to get our bedroom windows open and, once the pepper dissipated, spend the next 40-minutes scrubbing the walls.

At least I forgot about my other problem for a while.

Incident #2
Saturday night I get the runs. Immodium and Pepto Bismol don't seem to help. I sleep fitfully.

Sunday is no better, except now there's blood.

I decide it will get better on it's own. It doesn't.

At 5:30 pm I go to the hospital. Surprisingly I get admitted quickly.

An attractive resident attends to me. She pokes my stomach, listens to my chest, asks some questions and leaves. "Be right back."

My worst fear is realized when she returns with gloves and lube. "Are you serious? I've just got bad diarrhea."

"We want to be thorough."

"Are you flirting with me? Because I usually wait until at least the third date before a finger goes up my ass. Besides I'm married."

"Look. As much as you're not looking forward to receiving this. I'm not looking forward to performing it."

Touche.

Three hours later they still don't know what caused my problem. One blood test, two x-rays, and a rectal exam and all they could tell me was, "Eat more fiber."

Yup, this is definitely not how I thought my Sunday was going to end up.