Holy buckets of lead, Batman. When was the last time I posted??? Writer’s block? No, not so much. I’d like to begin by thanking each of my adoring fans (you know who you ams) for checking in on me to make sure I was still alive. My twitter and FaceSpace activity verify I am! Let’s catch up, shall we?
Since we last spoke, I got laid off. Don’t cry for me Argentina. I say this more as a point of fact more than a cry for sympathy. I was told by my mother decades ago that if I wanted sympathy to grab a dictionary and I could find it between ‘shit’ and ‘syphilis’. I have nothing bad to say about my former employer of 11 years. It was a great experience, I met lots of people that I consider to be “family”, and it was a good run. I considered the loss of a job an opportunity to catch up on all the things I had neglected in my life since Adrian came to live with us. To say it’s impossible to keep up with your house, school, relationship with your finger puppet, and raising happy, well adjusted children while working a full-time job is an understatement. I’ve, seriously, seized the opportunity to reacquaint myself with life.
My totally amazing sister, Dana, came down to San Antonio a few weeks ago for a business trip. While she was living in Oklahoma I got to see her quite often. Since she moved to D.C., I’ve gotten to see her exactly once (until dinner in San Antonio!). And we did it up Guy Fieri style. I’ve had this fantasy of taking over Guy’s job on “Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives” since I started watching the show. I’ve settled on following in his footsteps and visiting the restaurants he’s featured on his show. So we took my sister to the Tip Top Café and had the biggest, most delicious chicken fried steak I’ve ever eaten in my life.
We’ve spent some time in Galveston visiting family too. Just this last weekend we went down for a “just for the heck of it” trip and had a great time with the fam. We spent an afternoon at the beach picking up seashells and chasing waves and teaching Adrian to swim in Aunt Jan’s pool. He was a regular Michael Phelps…as soon as he grabbed on to the “fun noodle”! Jed and I even drove around looking at some houses.
I wrapped up this spring semester at school with 3-A’s and a B. It was a brutal semester, and while I mourn the loss of my 4.0, I’m proud of my 3.9. I earned it! I’ll be posting a blog in the next few days of some of the experiences, and assignments, from the semester that I didn’t want to write about during the semester (for fear of alienating peeps!).
As mentioned, I’ve been catching up on neglected household chores. Pre-layoff, I hadn’t mowed the yard in several months. The neighbors were starting to stare disapprovingly. Pre-Adrian, Jed and I had busted knuckles trying to fix up the house, replace plumbing, foundation, put color on walls, etc. I had started a remodel on the bathroom…and promptly stopped…midway…the day Adrian came to live with us. Our bedroom had become the lone room in the house that never got any TLC. So I’ve started in the bathroom again (anticipated completion early next week!) and FINALLY got some color up on the walls in the bedroom. I’ve become quite the Susie-homemaker (cleaning, cooking, etc.) since I’ve been home. I’m not quite sure I’m up to being a gay-at-home dad forever, but for the time being it hasn’t been too bad!
I’ve ALSO become quite the homeroom parent for ALL the schools the boys go to. In part because Adrian has been “having problems” with his teacher again and I’ve been wanting to get into his class to see what exactly the interactions between him and his teacher are like. I’ve also been wanting to get into Nathan’s school and see what and how they’re working on things with him.
That’s what I’ve got for today, folks. Nothing witty. Nothing insightful. I just wanted to let you know that I’m still around. While I’ve not been “working”, I’ve been busier than I was when I had a full-time job. I’m not actively looking for anything right now, but I don’t know how long I want to do this home gig. Summer is coming up…QUICKLY…and I’m looking forward to spending quality time with the boys doing fun things. BUT, I’m SURE after spending three months at home with them I’ll be more than ready for them to go back to school and get a job myself! We’ll see. Hope you’ve each been well, and thanks again for checking in on me. It warms me to know that there are so many people that read this blog and cared enough to make sure Jed hadn’t put antifreeze in my Kool-Aid.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Can you hear me now?
I will make no effort to claim any sort of originality in this post, as I am positive this topic has been touched on by many other bloggers. This, however, is my own take so do with it what you will.
There are a number of places where cell phone conversations are not only inappropriate, but any persons violating the common courtesy rule should be immediately killed. There is a time and a place for a telephone conversation, none of these places are 'the place'.
When you're taking a shit, or any other toileting duties (IE: taking a piss, brushing your teeth, showering, bathing, flossing, exfoliating). I can't tell you how many times I have walked into the bathroom at work and have heard attorneys on the phone while they're popping a squat on the throne. Do you honestly think people want to hear you blowing air out of your ass while youre talking to them on the phone? What's more, is what you have to say so important that you can't wait until youre done washing your hands to have a conversation about what you want for dinner? And don't think you're fooling anyone when you say, "Hold on, I've got another call coming in"...(place phone on mute, flush, return to conversation). We got your number. You know what I like to do while I'M taking a shit and someone is talking on their cell phone??? I flush the toilet. REPEATEDLY. To let the person on the other end of the phone know that the asshole they're talking to is in the bathroom.
At a funeral. You would think this goes without saying, but I was actually at a funeral recently where not only someone's cell phone rang, but the tart actually had the audacity to answer the call. She thought she was being discrete as she said, "I can't really talk right now, I'm at a funeral. Six? Yeah, I can meet you at Chili's at 6." Have some respect for the decedents family people. Leave your cell phone in the car, or at least turn it off. At this same funeral, there were scores of other tarts text messaging through the funeral. This falls under the same category as actual phone calls as far as I'm concerned.
In a car. I've bitched and moaned about this in other blogs so I won't take too much time with it here. Before any of my IRL friends pipe up, I'll also admit that I OCCASSIONALLY break this rule too. But I don't do it while I'm trying to fix my hair while balancing a double cheese burger in my lap and holding onto a soda. If you can't stay within a lane of traffic while you're talking on a phone, or change lanes without clipping the car beside you, STAY OFF YOUR PHONE WHILE YOURE DRIVING.
When you're placing an order at any food place. Look, if you don't know what the person you're ordering for wants before you get there, don't waste the time of every person standing behind you reading off the entire menu to the person on your phone. At least have the courtesy to step back and let those of us who know what we want order before you.
At a movie theater or any type of live theater. Do you honestly think the requests at the beginning of a movie that say, "Please turn off your cell phones now" don't apply to you? I do not pay $10.50/ticket to sit and listen to you tell your friends that you're watching the new Harry Potter film and talk about how cool the special effects are and give them a play-by-play of the movie. Let them pay their own $10.50 to come watch it for themselves.
While some guy is getting ready to blow a load into any of your body openings. I know I'm not the only person who watched in horror as Paris Hilton climbed off her boyfriend's dick to answer her cell phone. If your sex partner has bored you so much that you have to answer your phone, please at least have the courtesy to fake the "O" to let him know you're done and just be done with the act entirely. Don't answer the phone and then climb back on to finish.
And finally, any time you are have a real live conversation with a real live person that happens to be sitting in front of you, have a little respect for that person. I can't tell you how many times I've felt sorry for a person when I'm out and see the person they're with chatting non-stop on the phone. It's rude, it's disrespectful. That person has taken time out of their day to spend time with you. Not sit there and listen to you make plan B.
Here's a newsflash in case you haven't figured it out yet. If someone calls you on your cell phone, there is a little thing called a call log that will let you know who called and when. When it's appropriate you can call that person back and have as much air time with that person as you need. Do it on your own time people, not at the benefit of everyone else around you. Oh, and if you HAVE to have a phone conversation in public, remember, IT'S A CELL PHONE, not a megaphone. YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL to let people know what youve got to say. 9 times out of 10 its not that important anyway.
There are a number of places where cell phone conversations are not only inappropriate, but any persons violating the common courtesy rule should be immediately killed. There is a time and a place for a telephone conversation, none of these places are 'the place'.
When you're taking a shit, or any other toileting duties (IE: taking a piss, brushing your teeth, showering, bathing, flossing, exfoliating). I can't tell you how many times I have walked into the bathroom at work and have heard attorneys on the phone while they're popping a squat on the throne. Do you honestly think people want to hear you blowing air out of your ass while youre talking to them on the phone? What's more, is what you have to say so important that you can't wait until youre done washing your hands to have a conversation about what you want for dinner? And don't think you're fooling anyone when you say, "Hold on, I've got another call coming in"...(place phone on mute, flush, return to conversation). We got your number. You know what I like to do while I'M taking a shit and someone is talking on their cell phone??? I flush the toilet. REPEATEDLY. To let the person on the other end of the phone know that the asshole they're talking to is in the bathroom.
At a funeral. You would think this goes without saying, but I was actually at a funeral recently where not only someone's cell phone rang, but the tart actually had the audacity to answer the call. She thought she was being discrete as she said, "I can't really talk right now, I'm at a funeral. Six? Yeah, I can meet you at Chili's at 6." Have some respect for the decedents family people. Leave your cell phone in the car, or at least turn it off. At this same funeral, there were scores of other tarts text messaging through the funeral. This falls under the same category as actual phone calls as far as I'm concerned.
In a car. I've bitched and moaned about this in other blogs so I won't take too much time with it here. Before any of my IRL friends pipe up, I'll also admit that I OCCASSIONALLY break this rule too. But I don't do it while I'm trying to fix my hair while balancing a double cheese burger in my lap and holding onto a soda. If you can't stay within a lane of traffic while you're talking on a phone, or change lanes without clipping the car beside you, STAY OFF YOUR PHONE WHILE YOURE DRIVING.
When you're placing an order at any food place. Look, if you don't know what the person you're ordering for wants before you get there, don't waste the time of every person standing behind you reading off the entire menu to the person on your phone. At least have the courtesy to step back and let those of us who know what we want order before you.
At a movie theater or any type of live theater. Do you honestly think the requests at the beginning of a movie that say, "Please turn off your cell phones now" don't apply to you? I do not pay $10.50/ticket to sit and listen to you tell your friends that you're watching the new Harry Potter film and talk about how cool the special effects are and give them a play-by-play of the movie. Let them pay their own $10.50 to come watch it for themselves.
While some guy is getting ready to blow a load into any of your body openings. I know I'm not the only person who watched in horror as Paris Hilton climbed off her boyfriend's dick to answer her cell phone. If your sex partner has bored you so much that you have to answer your phone, please at least have the courtesy to fake the "O" to let him know you're done and just be done with the act entirely. Don't answer the phone and then climb back on to finish.
And finally, any time you are have a real live conversation with a real live person that happens to be sitting in front of you, have a little respect for that person. I can't tell you how many times I've felt sorry for a person when I'm out and see the person they're with chatting non-stop on the phone. It's rude, it's disrespectful. That person has taken time out of their day to spend time with you. Not sit there and listen to you make plan B.
Here's a newsflash in case you haven't figured it out yet. If someone calls you on your cell phone, there is a little thing called a call log that will let you know who called and when. When it's appropriate you can call that person back and have as much air time with that person as you need. Do it on your own time people, not at the benefit of everyone else around you. Oh, and if you HAVE to have a phone conversation in public, remember, IT'S A CELL PHONE, not a megaphone. YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL to let people know what youve got to say. 9 times out of 10 its not that important anyway.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The Family Staycation
The new interwebs buzzword is “staycation”. Due to the economy, it’s not just for poor white trash anymore, it’s for EVERYONE. Including The Phreddy.
After the first day, it became quite clear that the boys were NOT going to stay put for NINE WHOLE DAYS. We HAD to come up with a NEW plan.
Whilst in OKC I had high hopes of hitting at least one of the “Dives” from the food network, Leo’s BBQ. It didn’t work out for us though. APPARENTLY someone in Leo’s family died earlier in the week and the funeral was on the ONLY day we were able to go and the entire Leo’s BBQ family shut down both of its locations. My folks took us to this place in HELLAFAR north OKC (Arcadia, Oklahoma), which JUST SO HAPPENED to be on Route 66 called Pops. To tell you how amazing
this place was, all I have to do is tell you that FOR LUNCH on a Thursday afternoon at 11 there was a TWO HOUR wait for a table (inside) and a 45 minute wait for a table outside (in the 50 degree weather!). Normally I’d spit in the hostesses mouth after she told me a 2 hour wait, but I showed a little restraint and told her we’d take a table outside. I had noticed they had a HUGE play yard in back of the restaurant and figured I could EASILY entertain the kids for 45 minutes. NOT TO MENTION, Pops had FIVE-HUNDRED different bottled sodas to look at in their coolers. We spent the better part of 20 minutes looking at all the options and then found out you could mix-n-match your sodas and create your own six packs. So Adrian went through the coolers picking out all kinds of sodas (by color, not flavor, of course!). After getting our table, I experienced one 
of the best double grilled onion cheeseburgers, fries, and LEMONADE I’d ever had in muh life. OMG, was that burger tasty! After lunch we took a quick drive down a little further on Route 66 and toured a historic “round barn”. It was surely enough to get me my Route 66 fix that I had originally planned on.
After saying goodbye to our created family, we said goodbye to our folks and left to head back to Austin LATE Thursday night. With EVERYONE in the car, except yours truly, falling asleep before hitting the highway, it was a VERY quiet ride home.
We had a super fantabulous spring break family vacation planned. It had something for EVERYONE. With the help of the Food Network’s planning guide, I had mapped out a “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” tour of Texas/Oklahoma. We were going to spend the week staying in ultra-hip retro Tee-Pee Motels and eat our way across America’s homophobic “heartland”. We were going to see family and friends. We were going to have quality family time. We were going to travel parts of Oklahoma and Texas’ Route 66. It was to be the bomb-diggityest-bomb-bomb family vacation E.V.E.R.
BUT…
Due to reasons I can’t exactly get into on my blog JUST YET, we had to scrap “the plan”. We decided we would just stay put in our casa with the boys, since we had already taken the time off of work, and have 9-days of quality family time.
BUT…
After the first day, it became quite clear that the boys were NOT going to stay put for NINE WHOLE DAYS. We HAD to come up with a NEW plan.Fortunately for us, spring break coincided with a TON of stuff going on in Central Texas at the same time. We decided to take a day trip to Houston on Tuesday to go to the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. (NOTE: For those living OUTSIDE of Texas those words are pronounced HUE-STUN and ROW-
DEE-OHHHHHH respectively. If we meant for y’all to say “HOUSE-TON” and “ROW-DAY-OHHHH”, we woulda asked ya to!) Anyway…
DEE-OHHHHHH respectively. If we meant for y’all to say “HOUSE-TON” and “ROW-DAY-OHHHH”, we woulda asked ya to!) Anyway…The FP’s mom and bro met us at the livestock show and rodeo, and it was an absolute blast. We had such a good time looking at the animules, and eating the fair fare and riding the rides. It was a 
tad bit exhausting driving 6 hours (3 there, 3 back) and spending, roughly, 5 hours at the show…but the boys had so much fun that it was ENTIRELY worth it.
tad bit exhausting driving 6 hours (3 there, 3 back) and spending, roughly, 5 hours at the show…but the boys had so much fun that it was ENTIRELY worth it.The next morning we left for Oklahoma City for a visit with my family and a MUCH needed hair cut. Yeah, yeah…they have places here to get yer hairs done, but I only trust one person with my wig, so we have to go to OKC to git ‘er done. The first night we were there we caught up with my folks and my sister’s fam at a decent “Mexican” restaurant in Norman, Oklahoma. Living in Northern Mexico, it cracks me up to see what other people consider “Mexican food”!
Whilst in OKC I had high hopes of hitting at least one of the “Dives” from the food network, Leo’s BBQ. It didn’t work out for us though. APPARENTLY someone in Leo’s family died earlier in the week and the funeral was on the ONLY day we were able to go and the entire Leo’s BBQ family shut down both of its locations. My folks took us to this place in HELLAFAR north OKC (Arcadia, Oklahoma), which JUST SO HAPPENED to be on Route 66 called Pops. To tell you how amazing
this place was, all I have to do is tell you that FOR LUNCH on a Thursday afternoon at 11 there was a TWO HOUR wait for a table (inside) and a 45 minute wait for a table outside (in the 50 degree weather!). Normally I’d spit in the hostesses mouth after she told me a 2 hour wait, but I showed a little restraint and told her we’d take a table outside. I had noticed they had a HUGE play yard in back of the restaurant and figured I could EASILY entertain the kids for 45 minutes. NOT TO MENTION, Pops had FIVE-HUNDRED different bottled sodas to look at in their coolers. We spent the better part of 20 minutes looking at all the options and then found out you could mix-n-match your sodas and create your own six packs. So Adrian went through the coolers picking out all kinds of sodas (by color, not flavor, of course!). After getting our table, I experienced one 
of the best double grilled onion cheeseburgers, fries, and LEMONADE I’d ever had in muh life. OMG, was that burger tasty! After lunch we took a quick drive down a little further on Route 66 and toured a historic “round barn”. It was surely enough to get me my Route 66 fix that I had originally planned on.Later Thursday evening we met up with a bunch of our “family” (made-up family and bio family) at Ann’s Chicken Fry, coincidentally ALSO on Route 66! As the name suggests, Ann’s was not “healthy eats”, but HOT DAMN was that chicken fried steak, fried okra, and mashed potatoes T.A.S.T.Y! My only complaint about Ann’s was they didn’t have a space big enough to accommodate ALL of our “family”, so we had to split our group up into two…and I didn’t get to visit with as many folks as I wanted. And what did the boys think about Ann’s??? Adrian is STILL talking about his dinner that came out in a car! (Kid’s meals are served in a paper car!)
After saying goodbye to our created family, we said goodbye to our folks and left to head back to Austin LATE Thursday night. With EVERYONE in the car, except yours truly, falling asleep before hitting the highway, it was a VERY quiet ride home.
Friday we had a fairly lazy day around the house recovering from all the drive-time. But Saturday we managed to pack up a picnic and head downtown to Auditorium shores to catch some of the bands performing for SXSW music fest.
Ya know. I had a TRULY fantastic vacation with my family, even though we didn’t get to follow through with our initial plans. BUT…I can FINALLY answer Joe’s question. I DO NOT EVER want to be a stay-at-home dad! GOOD LORD! I needed to come back to work to recover from my staycation!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Where oh where has my little Phat Phreddy gone, oh where oh where could he be???
I’m here to report I survived my near death experience and subsequent vacation, and wanted to let you all know HE’S ALIVE!
Rewind about 2 and a half weeks ago, on a Sunday, I woke up from a nap not quite feeling myself. I was clammy, hot, sweaty, hungry, nauseated, dizzy, etc. I ass-u-med it was because it was hot in the house and I was just having trouble waking up from my nap. I spent the better part of that Sunday afternoon/evening on the couch, barely able to move. By bedtime I couldn’t breathe…through my nose…and I, indeed, ended up having a fever of 104. I called it a night…but not before calling in sick to work the next day. Monday was pretty much a fog for me. I remember going to bed at 845 on Sunday and waking up at 530 MONDAY EVENING. I knew I must have been up at some point earlier in the day, because Adrian had made it to school, and Jed insisted he hadn’t taken him.
I woke up long enough to fake and effort to go to my class that evening. By the time I made it from the parking lot to the class room I was as wet as if I had stepped out of a swimming pool. I barely made it 40 minutes into my class before I stood up and stumbled out with my stuff and headed back home to go to bed. Not before checking my temperature, again, 103.2.
Tuesday morning started off much like Monday, however I had a test review for my “math” class that I have on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Since I ain’t the brightest bulb in the tree, I decided to try to go to class. I took my temp, it was 102.4…so I was getting better, right? I loaded up with some Tylenol and drove into town. I made it through class, barely, and on the way home decided to call my used-to-be-hot-before-the-75-pound-weight-gain doctor to see if he could tell me how much longer I had to live.
Tuesday afternoon, after an astoundingly short 2 minutes 27 second office visit, Dr. Former-Hottie informed me that I was, indeed, “sick” and called in a prescription for antibiotics, told me to take Mucinex D twice a day, and Zyrtec once at night. In hindsight, I don’t think he ever really told me WHAT exactly I had, but I figured out later it was a MAJOR sinus infection. As I still hadn’t been able to breath through my nose.
I took all the requisite pills Tuesday evening and went back to bed, apologizing to Jed for making him a single parent. Wednesday morning I woke up hoping to feel better, but I still couldn’t breathe and still had a fever. I called into the office again and told them if I didn’t die overnight I’d try to come in on Thursday. I wasn’t exhausted on Wednesday like I had been the previous three days, so I laid around catching up on The View, Ellen, Oprah, and … General Hospital. One thing I learned was that the Today Show now stretches into, what seems like, a five-hour show. And 5 hours of the Today show is 4 and a half hours too much. I did laugh my ass off though seeing the REAL LIFE version of Kathy Lee and Hodda-what’s-her-name, having only experienced the skit on SNL. If you haven’t seen it, the SNL version isn’t that far of an exaggeration!
Anywhoodle. By Wednesday evening I was feeling human again. I went to my class, and while I was, again, diaphoretic (sweaty!) by the time I got to my class and had to eat some more Tylenol, I knew I was on the upswing.
WARNING: AB-SO-LUTE DISGUST AHEAD
Thursday morning I woke up feeling fantastic. I STILL couldn’t breathe, but I felt like I could do back-flips down the street. I hadn’t felt this good in MONTHS. I dropped the bear off at school and headed into work. Along the way I sneezed, and I felt a little trickle coming down one of my nares. I grabbed my little hanky to blow my nose. I felt something a little odd, but didn’t think anything of it. About a quarter mile down the road I came up to a stop light. I started slapping my thigh to the beat of the music when I looked down. Between the webbing of my index finger and my thumb of my left hand I saw something that almost made me jump out of my car. I, quite literally, scarred the shit out of me. I can only describe it as what it would look like if you took a large red seedless grape and sliced it in half. It had the same texture, consistency, and color, as the inside of a grape, and the outside of it had the same texture, consistency, and color as the outside skin of the same grape. The son-of-a-bitch had been the “odd” thing I felt happen some quarter mile back…this huge mother fucker had come out of my nose. I grossed me the hell out. BUT…I COULD BREATHE!!! …out of the left side of my nose, anyway.
OH WAIT BITCHES! IT AIN’T OVER YET!!!
So I get to the office THRILLED that I can finally breathe through my nose. All that mouth breathing had been KILLING me…drying me out, making it difficult to sleep for 22 hours a day. I had a BANNER morning. BAN.NER.
I left the office to walk up to the school for my test (that I had done the review for on Tuesday). Half-way to the school I felt a trickle down the back of my throat that made me cough/snort a little bit. And when I snorted I could feel the hair from my scalp being pulled inward as a huge suction pulled it down like a toilet plunger as this huge wad of I don’t know what the fuck came down from my sinus cavity pulling everything above it down with it. It more or less was the size and consistency of my fetus in fetu. I spit it out when the mass hit the back of my throat, but I could feel the brittle bone structure as it flew past my teeth. And when it hit the pavement, I swear I heard it cry.
And while it is, I agree, disgusting, the most amazing thing happened. I was able to breathe better than I have ever breathed in MUH LIFE!
The rest of the week went without incident…
Next post, THE FAMILY SPRING STAYCATION!!!
Rewind about 2 and a half weeks ago, on a Sunday, I woke up from a nap not quite feeling myself. I was clammy, hot, sweaty, hungry, nauseated, dizzy, etc. I ass-u-med it was because it was hot in the house and I was just having trouble waking up from my nap. I spent the better part of that Sunday afternoon/evening on the couch, barely able to move. By bedtime I couldn’t breathe…through my nose…and I, indeed, ended up having a fever of 104. I called it a night…but not before calling in sick to work the next day. Monday was pretty much a fog for me. I remember going to bed at 845 on Sunday and waking up at 530 MONDAY EVENING. I knew I must have been up at some point earlier in the day, because Adrian had made it to school, and Jed insisted he hadn’t taken him.
I woke up long enough to fake and effort to go to my class that evening. By the time I made it from the parking lot to the class room I was as wet as if I had stepped out of a swimming pool. I barely made it 40 minutes into my class before I stood up and stumbled out with my stuff and headed back home to go to bed. Not before checking my temperature, again, 103.2.
Tuesday morning started off much like Monday, however I had a test review for my “math” class that I have on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Since I ain’t the brightest bulb in the tree, I decided to try to go to class. I took my temp, it was 102.4…so I was getting better, right? I loaded up with some Tylenol and drove into town. I made it through class, barely, and on the way home decided to call my used-to-be-hot-before-the-75-pound-weight-gain doctor to see if he could tell me how much longer I had to live.
Tuesday afternoon, after an astoundingly short 2 minutes 27 second office visit, Dr. Former-Hottie informed me that I was, indeed, “sick” and called in a prescription for antibiotics, told me to take Mucinex D twice a day, and Zyrtec once at night. In hindsight, I don’t think he ever really told me WHAT exactly I had, but I figured out later it was a MAJOR sinus infection. As I still hadn’t been able to breath through my nose.
I took all the requisite pills Tuesday evening and went back to bed, apologizing to Jed for making him a single parent. Wednesday morning I woke up hoping to feel better, but I still couldn’t breathe and still had a fever. I called into the office again and told them if I didn’t die overnight I’d try to come in on Thursday. I wasn’t exhausted on Wednesday like I had been the previous three days, so I laid around catching up on The View, Ellen, Oprah, and … General Hospital. One thing I learned was that the Today Show now stretches into, what seems like, a five-hour show. And 5 hours of the Today show is 4 and a half hours too much. I did laugh my ass off though seeing the REAL LIFE version of Kathy Lee and Hodda-what’s-her-name, having only experienced the skit on SNL. If you haven’t seen it, the SNL version isn’t that far of an exaggeration!
Anywhoodle. By Wednesday evening I was feeling human again. I went to my class, and while I was, again, diaphoretic (sweaty!) by the time I got to my class and had to eat some more Tylenol, I knew I was on the upswing.
WARNING: AB-SO-LUTE DISGUST AHEAD
Thursday morning I woke up feeling fantastic. I STILL couldn’t breathe, but I felt like I could do back-flips down the street. I hadn’t felt this good in MONTHS. I dropped the bear off at school and headed into work. Along the way I sneezed, and I felt a little trickle coming down one of my nares. I grabbed my little hanky to blow my nose. I felt something a little odd, but didn’t think anything of it. About a quarter mile down the road I came up to a stop light. I started slapping my thigh to the beat of the music when I looked down. Between the webbing of my index finger and my thumb of my left hand I saw something that almost made me jump out of my car. I, quite literally, scarred the shit out of me. I can only describe it as what it would look like if you took a large red seedless grape and sliced it in half. It had the same texture, consistency, and color, as the inside of a grape, and the outside of it had the same texture, consistency, and color as the outside skin of the same grape. The son-of-a-bitch had been the “odd” thing I felt happen some quarter mile back…this huge mother fucker had come out of my nose. I grossed me the hell out. BUT…I COULD BREATHE!!! …out of the left side of my nose, anyway.
OH WAIT BITCHES! IT AIN’T OVER YET!!!
So I get to the office THRILLED that I can finally breathe through my nose. All that mouth breathing had been KILLING me…drying me out, making it difficult to sleep for 22 hours a day. I had a BANNER morning. BAN.NER.
I left the office to walk up to the school for my test (that I had done the review for on Tuesday). Half-way to the school I felt a trickle down the back of my throat that made me cough/snort a little bit. And when I snorted I could feel the hair from my scalp being pulled inward as a huge suction pulled it down like a toilet plunger as this huge wad of I don’t know what the fuck came down from my sinus cavity pulling everything above it down with it. It more or less was the size and consistency of my fetus in fetu. I spit it out when the mass hit the back of my throat, but I could feel the brittle bone structure as it flew past my teeth. And when it hit the pavement, I swear I heard it cry.
And while it is, I agree, disgusting, the most amazing thing happened. I was able to breathe better than I have ever breathed in MUH LIFE!
The rest of the week went without incident…
Next post, THE FAMILY SPRING STAYCATION!!!
Friday, March 13, 2009
What makes a DILF a DILF?
MY DILFSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO YAAAARD
ATTITUDE FO' SHIZZLE
Dads who look like Brad Pitt don't need to act like they ARE Brad Pitt. The bottom line is all of our bottom lines stink a little. I'm sure you think you're all that AND the bag of chips, but fellas, come on. We all know what "average" is. You can't bullshit a bullshitter.
FASHION ICON'T:
ONE WORD, MANSCAPE
PRODUCT, PRODUCT, PRODUCT
Again, product doesn't make you gay. Don't be afraid of smelling a little spicey, or having your hair held in place with a little product.
THERE IS SUCH A THING AS "TOO BIG"
And I'm not talking about that. We want you to be fit n' trim, but we don't want you spending all your time at the gym trying to look like Mr. Universe. You lose IQ points in equal proportion to the diameter of your bicep. It's okay if you can't bench press a VW.
UNDEROES
Take care of your drawers fellas. If they've got snail trail, trash ‘em. If they've got holes where you can scratch the fellas directly, trash them. If the elastic in the band is wavy because they've been stretched to capacity for the last 3 years, TRASH THEM. It's a good idea to replace your cotton more than once every three years. Think about what you do in them. You fart in them. Occassionally you're in a rush to get out of the bathroom and don't shake the dew off your lily well enough to put ‘em in there dry. You sweat in them. Your underwear are DISGUSTING.
ACCESSORIZE
This certainly isn't an all inclusive list. There's plenty more that makes you DILFable, but we like to hold our cards close to our chest and keep y'all guessing what you're thinking.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
An hour of my life I'll never get back
For those of you who don’t know, the finger puppet doesn’t drink. Ever. Except for those rare occasions he wants a drink. And before I tell you what he drinks, I’d like you take a moment to empty your hands of any liquids that might spill onto your computer and/or small children who could be harmed when you start laughing. When he drinks, the boo loves…Zima. In case you missed that, I said, ZIMA. What can I say, he’s a lady.
So tonight was one of those rare nights that he wanted to get his drink on. I should have known something was up when he was rubbing his ass up against me like a cat on a tree. He said, very sweetly, “Boo Boo Kitty Fuck, would you like to go on a quest for me”? HELL.YEAH! A quest! I’m ALL about a quest. I says, “Sure Kit Kat Patty Whack, whatchoo need”? And he says the one word that sends me into a fetal position…”A Zima”. What.the.ever.loving.fuck? I meet the one self-proclaimed bear with a tiara.
Since I love him so much and will humiliate myself any way possible for him I slip my Crocs on over my socks and head out into the blustery cold night in search of my KKPW’s Zima. Not before, though, checking on the interwebs to verify that the shit is even still being made. Sadly, it is.
STOP 1: Gaysian liquor store near my house: Quick scan of the refrigerated section reveals no Zima. No problem. As I’m about to make my quick ninja like escape the man behind the counter asks, “Can I help you find something”? I whisper “Zima”, cuz there’s a ton of drunk rednecks standing at the cash register. “Excuse me”, he asks? I say, “Zima”, again. “FOR YOU”, he chortles? “NO! NOT FOR ME”. He tells me he hasn’t carried it in years since “the gay stop shopping here”. The ONE GAY in Austin stopped shopping there and now my BBKF can’t have a god damn Zima.
STOP 2: Triangle Liquor Store: SURELY the Triangle Liquor Store will have Zima. They’ve got my people’s fucking symbol in their name for god’s sake. Quick-though-somewhat-lingering scan of the cooler, no Zima. I ask the very sweet woman who works there (who I believe MAY be from India or Pakistan) who is DESPERATELY trying to communicate in English, “Can I help find you something”? I tell her I’m looking for Zima. She asks what it is. I explain to her it’s similar to the Bacardi coolers. She asks me if I can spell it, and it’s at this point that I realize if I have to spell it for her then it’s probably not going to be in her store. So I leave.
STOP 3: Twin Liquors in my HEB Parking lot. I walk in, there’s a very large, loud talking man arguing with the cashier. As I’m approaching the cooler I A) don’t see it immediately, but B) the arguing is getting louder and I have visions of a shoot out resulting with my dead body being found underneath a million shattered, shot out bottles of rum and vodka clutching a six-pack of Zima to my chest. So I don’t bother finishing my search. I walk across the parking lot to my HEB.
STOP 4: I knew the grocery store wasn’t going to have it. I don’t even know why I bothered to check. Nine-times-out-of-ten that fucking grocery store is out of Diet Dr. Pepper and ONIONS! What made me thing TONIGHT of all nights they’d have ZIMA!
STOP 5: I stop by the Texaco (Shell, whatever, sue me) by our house. They used to carry this stuff all the time. About 18 months ago, the last time BBKF scratched his ass up and down my leg, they were out, so I wasn’t too hopeful tonight. They were still out. Probably permanently.
STOP 6: Lastly, I ran to Spec’s. If Spec’s didn’t have it, NOBODY in Central Texas would carry it. Spec’s has EVERYTHING. And I mean…E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. I walked down the quarter mile of refrigerated section looking at every case. NO.FUCKING.ZIMA. A Spec’s employee walks by and he asks if he can help me find anything. I tell him I’ve been sent on a quest to find some Zima. He says, “No problem. I’m zertain we have zome Zima”. I love a clown with a sense of humor. So he walks up and the aisle and we’re not finding it. He walks over to the front counter and LOUDLY announces, “THIS GUY BACK HERE IS LOOKING FOR ZIMA. I THOUGHT ZERTAIN WE HAD ZOME”. The manager assures him they carried it and “zuggested” some places for him to look. He looks in all his suggested places and finally says, “Man, I’m really, really sorry. I can’t believe we’re out. Nobody drinks that ztuff anymore. We should have zome. Iz there something else she would like”? I laugh and say no. I thank him for his time and excuse him before he can make any other clever words by replacing the “s” with a “z”.
I’m crushed. In part because I’ve let my BBKF down, and in part because now I know this means I’m not going to get sprayed by the feral cat tonight. So I call him up and tell him my tale of woe. How hard I’ve tried to make his night of magic happen. I ask him if he would like anything else. He says, “Yeah. Sure. Surprise me”. Fool me once, shame on … well, however the hell that goes. Rather than “surprise him” (because I’m seriously NO GOOD at that game) I start reading off a bunch of different options. “Do you want beer? IPA? Something malt liquorish”? He stops me at malt liquor and says, “Yeah, just get me something girlie”. I start reading off the titles of the Bartles & Jaymes flavors: Mojito, no. Sangia, no. I get to, “Fuzzy Navel” and BBKF shoots back, “I said girlie, I didn’t say I wanted a vagina”! With that I couldn’t contain my laughter. I told him I’d surprise him and got off the phone. I picked out a six-pack of Mike’s Cranberry Hard Lemonade. The Spec’s zemployee zaw me walking up to the counter and zaid, “Good call. I think she’ll really like that”. And I said, “Yes, I think she zwill”.
So tonight was one of those rare nights that he wanted to get his drink on. I should have known something was up when he was rubbing his ass up against me like a cat on a tree. He said, very sweetly, “Boo Boo Kitty Fuck, would you like to go on a quest for me”? HELL.YEAH! A quest! I’m ALL about a quest. I says, “Sure Kit Kat Patty Whack, whatchoo need”? And he says the one word that sends me into a fetal position…”A Zima”. What.the.ever.loving.fuck? I meet the one self-proclaimed bear with a tiara.
Since I love him so much and will humiliate myself any way possible for him I slip my Crocs on over my socks and head out into the blustery cold night in search of my KKPW’s Zima. Not before, though, checking on the interwebs to verify that the shit is even still being made. Sadly, it is.
STOP 1: Gaysian liquor store near my house: Quick scan of the refrigerated section reveals no Zima. No problem. As I’m about to make my quick ninja like escape the man behind the counter asks, “Can I help you find something”? I whisper “Zima”, cuz there’s a ton of drunk rednecks standing at the cash register. “Excuse me”, he asks? I say, “Zima”, again. “FOR YOU”, he chortles? “NO! NOT FOR ME”. He tells me he hasn’t carried it in years since “the gay stop shopping here”. The ONE GAY in Austin stopped shopping there and now my BBKF can’t have a god damn Zima.
STOP 2: Triangle Liquor Store: SURELY the Triangle Liquor Store will have Zima. They’ve got my people’s fucking symbol in their name for god’s sake. Quick-though-somewhat-lingering scan of the cooler, no Zima. I ask the very sweet woman who works there (who I believe MAY be from India or Pakistan) who is DESPERATELY trying to communicate in English, “Can I help find you something”? I tell her I’m looking for Zima. She asks what it is. I explain to her it’s similar to the Bacardi coolers. She asks me if I can spell it, and it’s at this point that I realize if I have to spell it for her then it’s probably not going to be in her store. So I leave.
STOP 3: Twin Liquors in my HEB Parking lot. I walk in, there’s a very large, loud talking man arguing with the cashier. As I’m approaching the cooler I A) don’t see it immediately, but B) the arguing is getting louder and I have visions of a shoot out resulting with my dead body being found underneath a million shattered, shot out bottles of rum and vodka clutching a six-pack of Zima to my chest. So I don’t bother finishing my search. I walk across the parking lot to my HEB.
STOP 4: I knew the grocery store wasn’t going to have it. I don’t even know why I bothered to check. Nine-times-out-of-ten that fucking grocery store is out of Diet Dr. Pepper and ONIONS! What made me thing TONIGHT of all nights they’d have ZIMA!
STOP 5: I stop by the Texaco (Shell, whatever, sue me) by our house. They used to carry this stuff all the time. About 18 months ago, the last time BBKF scratched his ass up and down my leg, they were out, so I wasn’t too hopeful tonight. They were still out. Probably permanently.
STOP 6: Lastly, I ran to Spec’s. If Spec’s didn’t have it, NOBODY in Central Texas would carry it. Spec’s has EVERYTHING. And I mean…E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. I walked down the quarter mile of refrigerated section looking at every case. NO.FUCKING.ZIMA. A Spec’s employee walks by and he asks if he can help me find anything. I tell him I’ve been sent on a quest to find some Zima. He says, “No problem. I’m zertain we have zome Zima”. I love a clown with a sense of humor. So he walks up and the aisle and we’re not finding it. He walks over to the front counter and LOUDLY announces, “THIS GUY BACK HERE IS LOOKING FOR ZIMA. I THOUGHT ZERTAIN WE HAD ZOME”. The manager assures him they carried it and “zuggested” some places for him to look. He looks in all his suggested places and finally says, “Man, I’m really, really sorry. I can’t believe we’re out. Nobody drinks that ztuff anymore. We should have zome. Iz there something else she would like”? I laugh and say no. I thank him for his time and excuse him before he can make any other clever words by replacing the “s” with a “z”.
I’m crushed. In part because I’ve let my BBKF down, and in part because now I know this means I’m not going to get sprayed by the feral cat tonight. So I call him up and tell him my tale of woe. How hard I’ve tried to make his night of magic happen. I ask him if he would like anything else. He says, “Yeah. Sure. Surprise me”. Fool me once, shame on … well, however the hell that goes. Rather than “surprise him” (because I’m seriously NO GOOD at that game) I start reading off a bunch of different options. “Do you want beer? IPA? Something malt liquorish”? He stops me at malt liquor and says, “Yeah, just get me something girlie”. I start reading off the titles of the Bartles & Jaymes flavors: Mojito, no. Sangia, no. I get to, “Fuzzy Navel” and BBKF shoots back, “I said girlie, I didn’t say I wanted a vagina”! With that I couldn’t contain my laughter. I told him I’d surprise him and got off the phone. I picked out a six-pack of Mike’s Cranberry Hard Lemonade. The Spec’s zemployee zaw me walking up to the counter and zaid, “Good call. I think she’ll really like that”. And I said, “Yes, I think she zwill”.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
My life with a 3-year old sociopath
Since I often discuss the problems I have with the 4-year old, people often assume that the younger brainiac is an angel. For the most part I, actually, feel like he is. He’s the sweetest most loving little boy…when daddy is around, apparently.
Perhaps my expectations of the behavior of a 3-year old child are a bit too low. In fact, perhaps my expectations of a 4-year old child are too low. My struggles with the local school system in regards to my older braniac have been well documented, so I won’t regurgitate that for the sake of expedience. But now I’m having issues with our local school system relating to the younger brainiac.
For those of you confused why I have my 3-year old enrolled in school already, I should give you a brief background. My son doesn’t talk. Ever. I realize some of you are scratching your heads and wondering what the problem with that is. I have no doubt most of you feel like that would be heavenly if your toddler didn’t speak. But for me, it’s a matter of concern. It causes a great deal of frustration because the boy knows what he wants but lacks the ability, or desire, to communicate his needs. Many well-intentioned people gave us lots of advice when he was a little younger. “Don’t worry, he’ll talk when he’s ready”. “Einstein didn’t talk until he was 5”. “He doesn’t need to say anything, because his brother always answers for him”.
I didn’t want him to start life at a disadvantage of lagging behind in his language skills, so we decided to have him evaluated. We were told that he was significantly delayed in various areas of speech and that he was eligible for speech therapy through Central Texas Easter Seals. One of the benefit of being a foster/adoptive parent is that these services are free for him, so we saw no reason not to enroll him in the program. Admittedly, we’ve had a varying degree of success with the program. On his third birthday his Easter Seals benefits expired and he was elevated up the ladder to our local school system’s “Early Childhood Intervention” program. He went from having speech therapy twice a month to being enrolled in a local school program for 4 hours a day, 5 days a week.
His speech has gotten, relatively, MUCH better over the last 4 months. In fact, on the way to Galveston last week, I heard him counting softly to himself all the way up to fifteen. Last night, at dinner, he was dancing around, acting like a buffoon, when I noticed he was singing along to the musak that was playing over the loud speaker…to a song I had never heard before, much less play for him. I’ve always thought that when the boy DID start talking it would be in complete sentences, and for this I’m thrilled.
So what’s the problem you ask? As with the older braniac, I’ve gotten some disturbing communication from the school system regarding the behavior of my child. I’ve always been a huge advocate of the public school system. I think, hands down, public schools are a better environment for children than private or home-schooling environments. You can disagree with me on that all you want, in fact, I would appreciate you challenging me on that. I feel like private schools teach towards a specific agenda. In other words, send your child to a parochial school, and they’re going to learn the churches agenda. And while, admittedly, not intimately familiar with the home-schooling environment, I understand that there’s a certain level of interaction with other children, but for the most part it’s a limited engagement with a very small group of children. I feel like the public school system throws a child into a greater mix of diverse student populations that are invaluable to a child’s learning experience. Not to mention that whole exposure to childhood illnesses thing!
All that said, I’m beginning to think there’s some inherent problems to the public school system. As I mentioned at the very start of this, either I’m disillusioned and my expectations of my child are way too low, or THEIR expectations of children are way too high.
Last week I got a phone call from one of the younger braniac’s teachers. She was calling to tell me they were having “behavioral” issues with him and that it had been going on for a while. I found it odd that they had been having behavioral issues “for a while” and asked why I hadn’t been notified earlier. I was told they were trying to work the issues out themselves, but it had reached a point where they felt they needed some parental intervention or assistance. She went through the laundry list of “behavioral problems” they were having with my child. It took all I had to keep from laughing out loud on the telephone. To reiterate their point, yesterday he came home with a note from his teachers and three triplicate forms of “incidents” that I had to sign and date.
What? HE’S THREE. HE’S NON-VERBAL. What is a “mental health professional” going to be able to get out of him? I CAN’T GET HIM TO TELL ME WHETHER HE WANTS JUICE OR MILK!
Curious to see what his aggressive behaviors were, I checked on the incident reports they sent:
• Oppositional or defiant behavior: Has to be told a limit more than twice. Running in the classroom. Running away.
• Aggressive Behavior: Kicking. Throwing objects. Hitting. Biting.
• Inappropriate use of classroom and playground equipment: Climbing on furniture.
Again, I would like to say, HE’S THREE! Have these people never met a 3-year old before? The ONLY thing on the list that concerned me was the biting, as we had crossed that bridge YEARS ago. He hasn’t bitten anyone, that I know of, since way before his 2nd birthday. This leads me to believe that if he’s biting now, it’s a learned behavior from his new environment.
A group learning environment is nothing new to my son. He’s been in daycare since he was 6-weeks old. I feel like what the school administrators fail to recognize with their Pre-K and even Pre-Pre-K is that the children aren’t familiar with all the new rules of the school when they first arrive. THIS is a learned behavior. Of course my 3-year old runs around a classroom, that’s what he’s been doing at his daycare ever since he learned to walk! Of course my child needs limits told more than twice. HE’S THREE! Of course my child is kicking, throwing, and hitting, and climbing on furniture, HE’S THREE.
Please. Tell me, am I the one that has the problem? Am I disillusioned about how I expect a 3-year old to act? If so, please give me some suggestions at how to address these behavior issues.
Perhaps my expectations of the behavior of a 3-year old child are a bit too low. In fact, perhaps my expectations of a 4-year old child are too low. My struggles with the local school system in regards to my older braniac have been well documented, so I won’t regurgitate that for the sake of expedience. But now I’m having issues with our local school system relating to the younger brainiac.
For those of you confused why I have my 3-year old enrolled in school already, I should give you a brief background. My son doesn’t talk. Ever. I realize some of you are scratching your heads and wondering what the problem with that is. I have no doubt most of you feel like that would be heavenly if your toddler didn’t speak. But for me, it’s a matter of concern. It causes a great deal of frustration because the boy knows what he wants but lacks the ability, or desire, to communicate his needs. Many well-intentioned people gave us lots of advice when he was a little younger. “Don’t worry, he’ll talk when he’s ready”. “Einstein didn’t talk until he was 5”. “He doesn’t need to say anything, because his brother always answers for him”.
I didn’t want him to start life at a disadvantage of lagging behind in his language skills, so we decided to have him evaluated. We were told that he was significantly delayed in various areas of speech and that he was eligible for speech therapy through Central Texas Easter Seals. One of the benefit of being a foster/adoptive parent is that these services are free for him, so we saw no reason not to enroll him in the program. Admittedly, we’ve had a varying degree of success with the program. On his third birthday his Easter Seals benefits expired and he was elevated up the ladder to our local school system’s “Early Childhood Intervention” program. He went from having speech therapy twice a month to being enrolled in a local school program for 4 hours a day, 5 days a week.
His speech has gotten, relatively, MUCH better over the last 4 months. In fact, on the way to Galveston last week, I heard him counting softly to himself all the way up to fifteen. Last night, at dinner, he was dancing around, acting like a buffoon, when I noticed he was singing along to the musak that was playing over the loud speaker…to a song I had never heard before, much less play for him. I’ve always thought that when the boy DID start talking it would be in complete sentences, and for this I’m thrilled.
So what’s the problem you ask? As with the older braniac, I’ve gotten some disturbing communication from the school system regarding the behavior of my child. I’ve always been a huge advocate of the public school system. I think, hands down, public schools are a better environment for children than private or home-schooling environments. You can disagree with me on that all you want, in fact, I would appreciate you challenging me on that. I feel like private schools teach towards a specific agenda. In other words, send your child to a parochial school, and they’re going to learn the churches agenda. And while, admittedly, not intimately familiar with the home-schooling environment, I understand that there’s a certain level of interaction with other children, but for the most part it’s a limited engagement with a very small group of children. I feel like the public school system throws a child into a greater mix of diverse student populations that are invaluable to a child’s learning experience. Not to mention that whole exposure to childhood illnesses thing!
All that said, I’m beginning to think there’s some inherent problems to the public school system. As I mentioned at the very start of this, either I’m disillusioned and my expectations of my child are way too low, or THEIR expectations of children are way too high.
Last week I got a phone call from one of the younger braniac’s teachers. She was calling to tell me they were having “behavioral” issues with him and that it had been going on for a while. I found it odd that they had been having behavioral issues “for a while” and asked why I hadn’t been notified earlier. I was told they were trying to work the issues out themselves, but it had reached a point where they felt they needed some parental intervention or assistance. She went through the laundry list of “behavioral problems” they were having with my child. It took all I had to keep from laughing out loud on the telephone. To reiterate their point, yesterday he came home with a note from his teachers and three triplicate forms of “incidents” that I had to sign and date.
”We have seen increasingly aggressive behaviors while at school. I would like to
have his behavior evaluated by our mental health division here to see if they
can help us find solutions that may help calm his aggression…”
What? HE’S THREE. HE’S NON-VERBAL. What is a “mental health professional” going to be able to get out of him? I CAN’T GET HIM TO TELL ME WHETHER HE WANTS JUICE OR MILK!
Curious to see what his aggressive behaviors were, I checked on the incident reports they sent:
• Oppositional or defiant behavior: Has to be told a limit more than twice. Running in the classroom. Running away.
• Aggressive Behavior: Kicking. Throwing objects. Hitting. Biting.
• Inappropriate use of classroom and playground equipment: Climbing on furniture.
Again, I would like to say, HE’S THREE! Have these people never met a 3-year old before? The ONLY thing on the list that concerned me was the biting, as we had crossed that bridge YEARS ago. He hasn’t bitten anyone, that I know of, since way before his 2nd birthday. This leads me to believe that if he’s biting now, it’s a learned behavior from his new environment.
A group learning environment is nothing new to my son. He’s been in daycare since he was 6-weeks old. I feel like what the school administrators fail to recognize with their Pre-K and even Pre-Pre-K is that the children aren’t familiar with all the new rules of the school when they first arrive. THIS is a learned behavior. Of course my 3-year old runs around a classroom, that’s what he’s been doing at his daycare ever since he learned to walk! Of course my child needs limits told more than twice. HE’S THREE! Of course my child is kicking, throwing, and hitting, and climbing on furniture, HE’S THREE.
Please. Tell me, am I the one that has the problem? Am I disillusioned about how I expect a 3-year old to act? If so, please give me some suggestions at how to address these behavior issues.
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