C'mon, Son...

We've been doing some remodeling lately. One of the things we've needed to do is paint our doors. That involved removing the hardware which means each of our upstairs doors have a gaping hole where the doorknobs used to be. I've been procrastinating the installation of the new hardware for over two weeks.
Normally, this isn't a problem, except now I can't take a poo without having a conversation with one of my children through the hole in the door. This is kind of distracting, but it still hasn't been enough for me to replace the hardware.
Today, however, my 5 year old got ahold of our digital camera. I was minding my own business (while doing my business) when I saw a flash come through the hole in the door. I wasn't sure what he was doing until he'd taken three or four pictures. I'll be putting the hardware on this weekend.

Buzz Cut

So one day I came home from work and my wife admitted to trying to cut our son's hair and "screwing up"... big time. She had told me that morning she intended to cut his hair, and I admonished her to please... please... please... don't cut his hair. She promised she wouldn't, but then she did. So I was pretty pissed. I told her that she "didn't respect me" and that she "probably wanted to divorce me" and then I said stuff like "maybe your life would be easier if I just buried myself alive"... you know... stuff that most people say when they're in a fight. Then I said, "If you really love and respect me, then you'll shave your head." She was feeling juuuuust guilty enough to storm into the bathroom and close the door. I listened for a little while... then I heard the clippers going, but the sound was NOT the sound of clippers-cutting-hair.

I went into the bathroom and saw my sweet wife standing in front of the mirror holding the clippers to the back of her neck... kind of like she was trying to psych herself into shaving her head. I chuckled and said, "C'mon, Boodle (pet name). We both know you're not going to shave your head." Just then, she put the clippers to the back of her neck and drew one swift line from the back of her neck to the middle of her forehead. My eyes were about as big as dinner plates and then I just started laughing.
I helped her finish of the rest of her head and she began the process of growing her hair back. It's been slow going, but she's finally to a point where she can look at herself in the mirror and say, "Yeah... ok. I look cute." I guess I can never say my wife doesn't love me again.

Down's?

With our first two kids my wife (and I) submitted to pretty much every test the doctor recommended throughout the pregnancy. Now that I look back, I think that may have been because I was always present for every appointment and so I didn't realize that I was the one saying "yes" whenever a test was suggested. Well, this time I missed an appointment and Betsy was there without me. Well it just happened to be the visit when they ask if the mother would like to test the baby for Down's Syndrome. Betsy decided not to for only one reason: there's a chance of false positives. Her rationale was that she preferred to not be told our child was Down's only to find out upon birthing that she actually WAS. I probably wouldn't have asked, but when she returned from the appointment Betsy volunteered the fact she had refused the test. Initially, I understood her reasoning, but lately it's been bothering me. Now it's too late to test and so we won't know until she's born, but I keep thinking I'd rather be TOLD she's Down's and be surprised when she's born to find out she's NOT than to assume she's not and be surprised to see the huge forehead when she comes out. It's a serious concern I have.

And another thing: If I were to have a Down's baby, I REALLY think I'd be okay with it, but it would be depressing if our only girl ended up being Down's. Not that I'd wish Down's on either of my two boys, but I'd really have a hard time with my only daughter being Down's. I don't know. I'm probably rambling, but I'm legitimately concerned. Ever since Betsy told me she'd turned down the test, I keep having these moments when I envision a Down's baby floating around in her belly, kicking and punching like any other infant. I just wish I knew and I really hope I don't sound like I'm mocking anyone or anything... though it wouldn't be below me to do such a thing.

Skivs

One day in the recent past, my son was running around is his briefs... as usual. It looked like fun to be able to run around so careless and free, so I dug my only pair of briefs out of my bottom drawer and ran around for a little while with him. He wasn't as excited as I thought he'd be. Neither was my wife. And I was pretty cold. I don't know why he doesn't get cold. Seriously.

My family... minus me.

This is my family. Tyton, Boston, Betsy and our mastiff Sharona. She's about 175 lbs. Sharona that is... not my wife. My wife is about 145 lbs... but that's mostly because she's about 7 months pregnant. Normally she's around 110 or so. Man, I hope she doesn't read this.

142 lbs of Pure Muscle

There was a period of time while I was working graveyard shifts when I was losing weight pretty dramatically. My problem was that I don't have an appetite when I'm tired. I also lose my appetite when I'm nervous and this weight loss happened right about the time I was getting married and having sex for my first time... so my nervousness was just about as intense as it could possible be. I remember I had a checkbook and I had a signature quote over the signature line that said "142 lbs of pure muscle". That was a lie. I was actually about 125, but I thought that would be too embarrassing to put on a checkbook. But then my wedding starting getting closer and my appetite vanished (along with frequent bouts of diarrhea which happen pretty much whenever my heartrate goes over 80 beats a minute). I actually got down to 116 lbs and I was getting pretty nervous. Then a few years later I started to gain weight again. Maybe I was finally getting used to the activities that take place behind closed doors, but I think mostly it had to do with my daily intake of metamucil. This kept me regular to a point where I no longer had "episodes" with my bowels. At least not as frequently. I mean, it still happens occasionally... like when my bishop talks to me in the hallway at church and says, "We'd like to hear from you and your wife this Sunday." My stomach gurgles a little bit. But when he says, "Your topic is 'How did the faithfulness of the Pioneers help them with their Struggle to overcome temptation and be led away from their Worldly Treasures into a land of promise and freedom to worship?'" Then I make a mad dash for the bathroom and call the bishop later that night to accept the speaking assignment. This is my life.

Intro... of sorts.

I'm thinking that I probably don't need to introduce myself since the odds are slim that a complete stranger has stumbled across this blog and is currently thinking, "Who is this interesting, skinny, yet strangely attractive young man? He speaks volumes in so few words. How is it possible that a boy who appears to be too young to view R-rated movies able to spout off such profound knowledge with such a limited vernacular?" Those are good questions, but I mustn't answer them, since doing so would be a complete contradiction of my original idea... that being... no one WOULD ask those questions. Follow?