Poo

I don't know what it is about poo that my family finds so funny. Usually it's talking about it that we find hilarious. Remember when you were little and you'd replace as many word in sentence with "poo" and "pee" just to get your siblings to laugh (or to get your parents to tell you to stop)? Don't even try to act like you didn't do it... you at least had a brother that did it and I know you laughed.

I can't believe how often Tyton can get Boston to laugh just by saying poo 15 times in a 17 word sentence. Not just a chuckle, either. I'm talking full blown can't-get-a-breath type of laughter.

I don't know if you are familiar with the children's program Caillou (pronounced "ky-you"), but there's a verse in the opening song that goes like this:

So many things to do.
Each day is something new.
I'll share them with you,
I'm Caillou.

Well whenever it's on, this is how my boys sing it between fits of hysterical laughter (and notice how the frequency of the word "poo" increases as the verse goes on):

So many things to poo.
Each poo is something poo.
I'll poo them poo poo.
Poo poooooooo pooo.

Maybe you'll recognize this one:

Well every poo is so glory poo
And every poo is so wonder poo
There's more to ex-poo
When you open your poo
Like curious, like curious, like Curious Poo!

Betsy and I try not to get after them poo often. Sometimes (if Betsy's not around) I'll make up some lyrics with them... only I'll mix it up so the lyrics are really poopy, but they also make sense.

By the way, I've also included a couple of poopy photos I thought you might enjoy. The first one is when Betsy was changing Bostons diaper and he decided to spray diarrhea all up Betsy's pants and shirt. If you blow the photo up, you may even see a chunk on her face.

The bottom photo is at Lagoon-a-Beach. Tyton was playing in the Volleyball Court sand and then I noticed he had something in his hands that he was pulling apart like it was Play-Doh. He said, "What's this, Dad?" with a look of curiosity on his face. I said, "It looks like cat poo. Smell it." He did smell it. It was cat poo. Then I took this photo.

My Fridge

You know how you can tell a lot about someone based on what's in their closet... or maybe in their medicine cabinet? Well I looked in my fridge this morning, saw my son's trains, and then glanced around at the rest of the items in my fridge. I thought, "I wonder what conclusions could be drawn about me and my station in life based solely on the contents of my refrigerator."

I decided to snap a photo of the main part and then took a separate photo of the door of the fridge. I think our choice of what goes in the door could say a lot about us by itself. I didn't move anything around or clean anything up prior to taking these pictures. This is exactly how our fridge looked as of nine o' clock this morning.

You don't have to be mean, either. You could say something like, "The English Muffins signify a quiet, subtle, sophistication." I think that's pretty accurate, by the way.

New Post

For a little while I tried not to post things on my blog on Fridays or Saturdays. I really like getting comments on my blog and I learned that weekends are not a good time to post things and then expect people to comment. I'm not positive of the reasons, but I think my guess is pretty good. First of all, I don't think people have as much time to kill on the weekends (as opposed to when they're sitting at work during the week) and as a result, they don't waste their weekends reading blogs and then commenting on them.

Secondly, by the time people DO have time to kill (on Monday at work), they don't leave comments because they figure it's an old post (3 days) and people don't usually read the comments on old posts so... "Why bother commenting if Cameron will be posting something new later today? I might as well just wait to comment on his new post this afternoon."

Ultimately, I've decided if I feel like posting something on a weekend I'm going to try not to put much thought into it. Maybe just post something easy that I've written in the past... or maybe a couple of photos. Nothing big. But if YOU'RE like ME, then you'll be excited when you see I've posted something new while you're clicking around on Saturday afternoon or maybe Sunday just before church.

Wow. That dialogue was almost completely unnecessary.

I have a folder of letters I've written to my brothers while they were on their missions. I also have saved all of my update letters mailed out to family and friends approximately four times a year, titled Daley Record of Events... or D.R.E. I've decided to scan in all of my written letters and typed updates (that I haven't previously had stored) and put them on my thumb drive. I've opted to post one today for your reading pleasure.

I hope it brings you happiness on this wonderful weekend.

Indiana Jones/Dr. Pepper Hat Prize

I got a pretty sweet surprise in the mail the other day. It was my totally kick "a" Indiana Jones/Dr. Pepper Hat Prize. Luckily, the hat doesn't say anything about a crystal skull or else I might have thrown it away. Indiana Jones 4 totally sucked. But the hat is sweet and it smells like Dr. Pepper.

Our Weekend

I almost called the doctor today to see if he still had the opening on Thursday to perform my vasectomy. Seriously... I almost did. I didn't... but I almost did. Our boys got sick on Memorial Day. Luckily our holiday plans didn't involve leaving our own property so we didn't have to cancel anything. My wife hates our sectional couch, but it worked out great for our two sick kids. She thinks it's too big and looks ridiculous, but we can't afford to buy anything new or anything made of cow, so we're stuck with this couch we got for free from a friend of mine who told me I could have it so long as he could give it to me "as is". Come to find out "as is" means completely covered (completely covered [yes I felt it necessary to type it twice]) with dog hair. Dog hair in every nook and cranny... every square inch of surface area, including unexposed surface area. I bought a 10-pack of lint rollers from Costco and Betsy and I used every single sheet from all 10 rollers. Then we vacuumed and shampoo'd the thing twice. The next day Boston peed on it.

My boys got sick yesterday. It started as a fever. I was in the kitchen when my wife yelled, "He's throwing up! Get a bowl!" By the time I got the bowl and made it in to him, I caught about 1/2 cup of sweet smelling vomit in the bowl. The other three cups were in Betsy's cupped hands, on the couch, on the blanket, all over Boston's right arm and puddled in the crevasses of Boston's pajama top. I kept trying to reassure Boston that it was no big deal. I had to breath out of my mouth when I carried Boston into the bathroom and had to touch his puke dripping sleeves to get his shirt off. Most of the throw-up from his shirt ended up in his hair by the time I had him undressed (I actually contemplated cutting the shirt off like the EMT's do when someone has a serious injury). Then I had to drain the bathwater after he got in cause there were so many chunks. I almost decided to just let the water stay in the tub, until I saw the yellow cloud forming around his wiener, since I didn't have time to let him pee before getting the vomit rinsed off him.

Three days ago, Tyton was waking up in the morning, stretching and talking to Boston who was standing by his bed. Then Tyton yelled, "Boston is pooping!" After I sat Boss on the toilet (with his Blues Clues seat acting as a booster), I started picking up rock-hard turds with Kleenex trying to make sure I didn't miss any. Then I noticed the puddle of urine on the carpet where Boss was standing. I could hear Season crying in the other room and Betsy was trying to soothe her. Tyton decided he wanted to help soothe her, as well, so he got out of bed and smushed a couple of the turds into the carpet and tracked them into our bedroom. Then he stepped onto the bed frame while saying in his "It's okay" voice, "Are you okay, Season? Why are you sad?" Then his foot slipped and Tyton's face hit the window sill. Tyton starting crying and screaming that his nose was bleeding. I had a tissue in both hands holding squished Boston poo and Betsy was holding Season in one arm, Tyton had his hands cupped under his nose and Boston was sitting on the toilet CLAIMING he didn't have to poo anymore.

How was your weekend?

The Vasectomy Monologues: Part 3

My wife and I were married in September of 2001 and by February of 2002, she was pregnant with our first kid. It was planned, though, I promise. We both wanted to have children and it made the most sense for us to have them as soon as possible. Since we had only dated for about 3 weeks, ultimately we didn't have much time to really get to know each other before the mood swings and nausea started. Over the last six years whenever we think about the first chapter of our marriage, we seem to drift toward the same question: Should we have waited to start our family until after we'd had a chance to get to know each other?

I think we did things the best way we could have. But every time I think about our future, I think ahead to the day when our children will be grown-up and on their own. Betsy and I will be able to go on cruises and vacations as a couple that we never had a chance to do when we were in our early 20's. Our kids will be adults and we'll still be young enough to enjoy each other's company... hopefully.

So whenever we have another child, the "18 year" stopwatch starts all over again. Right now, we'll both be almost 50 when Season is old enough to go to college or get married or move out or something. If things work out the way I'm planning, I'll have the summers off to spend with my wife and we can hang out with our kids and their families.

Betsy also has pretty rough pregnancies. They're not really DANGEROUS pregnancies... they're just really hard on her. When a pregnancy is hard on a wife and mother, it also makes for very trying times for the husband and children. We also recently moved into the house we'd like to live in for the next 50 or so years... and it only has 3 bedrooms with the possibility of adding a fourth at some point. So with three children, it works out pretty well. They can each have their own room when they hit their teenage years.

Betsy stays at home and takes care of the house and children and I work for the government. I get the occasional "cost of living adjustment" on my paycheck, but we are not in a position to be able to afford a large family. We are in the unfortunate situation to need to decide whether we should have more children and have yearly vacations in our backyard in a tent, or stop having kids and be able to afford an annual road trip or Disneyland adventure. For some, the decision would be easy (and different depending on who you are), but for us it's been tough.

There are other reasons we've decided to stop having children, but these are the least intrusive and more obvious ones.

Three days ago I was standing in my kitchen looking out the window at my two boys playing on the rope swing hanging from our apple tree in the backyard. My wife had just put Season to sleep in the crib and she walked up behind me and we both watched our kids playing. I told her how happy I am to have such a wonderful family and how blessed we've been to have such healthy and handsome children. She agreed and expressed her satisfaction with how well we've done with our life and with our family. I said something about how much fun it's going to be when Season is old enough to play outside with our boys. We both laughed at the mental image of watching Season learning to walk and stumbling around in the backyard with her two big brothers. Betsy said something about the size of our yard and how relieving it is to have so much space for our kids to play. Then I asked if she could picture any more kids playing in the backyard. She smiled and started walking into the bedroom to check on Season when she said, "Yeah... I could have one more."

This shocked me quite a bit. I followed her in to the bedroom and we started having a complicated conversation that still happens to be going on... on and off. All of the same reasons exist for wanting to be done, but we've been able to dismiss most of them by using fairly simple logic.

Our three kids are about 2 1/2 years apart each. So even though it's tempting to get my vasectomy now, we've been wondering if it makes more sense to wait until the time we'd normally be wanting to get pregnant again (in about 2 1/2 years) and then see how we feel. The problem with that rationalization is we can both picture ourselves wanting another baby... and another baby... and another baby. We've been wondering if we should use logic and common sense to make a decision like this or if we should use our gut/heart/spiritual prompting.

Since this conversation started three days ago, Betsy is still saying she feels like we're done. I also feel like we're done, but it scares me to think that I'm deciding NOW (with my vasectomy) to have the future decision taken away. I want to be able to decide in three years if I want another baby. I don't feel like I should have to make the decision now.

I called the Doctor and canceled my vasectomy. I was wondering if I was going to be able to type this blog post in such a way where I didn't seem like too much of a wuss. For the record, I'm not scared of the doctor messing with my balls and sticking a huge needle into my scrotum. I'm cool with that. I'm just not ready for the side-effects of the doctor messing with my balls.

Stay tuned for Part 4... coming in 2 1/2 years.

Del Monte

The other day Betsy bought a case of Del Monte canned peaches. Usually the peaches are scrum-diddly-umptious... but for some reason, the first can of peaches was completely nasty. Betsy said that she could squish every peach against the roof of her mouth and it would simply dissolve. I laughed a bit as she poured most of the can into Sharona's food dish... even though I was crying a little bit on the inside since each can equates to approximately $1.30.

The next day Betsy opened another can of Del Monte canned peaches and I heard her groan while I was checking out all my friends blogs on the computer. She said something about how upsetting it was that she couldn't enjoy the peaches like she usually does. This time I asked to try a peach before she gave them to Sharona. When I put the peach in my mouth, it was so extremely soft, I wondered how it was able to even keep the shape of a sliced peach. It tasted like a peach, thankfully, but the texture really threw me off. It was almost as disturbing as the sound of cauliflower squeaking when you bite it (which is why I don't eat cauliflower).

Well, since I was already on the computer, I clicked the Google link on my "favorites" bar and then typed in "Del Monte canned peaches". About three clicks later I was plugging in my personal information and began typing about my less-than-ideal experience... explaining in great detail the grotesque nature of the peaches, but countered my complaint with extremely flattering comments about our more common enjoyment of Del Monte products.

While I was typing up my Verbal Kung-fu, I remembered how often I would do this sort of thing when I was a teenager. I would be eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes and reading the side and back of the cereal box for the hundredth time because we couldn't afford the newspaper in my house and I wasn't old enough to read the Ensign (not because my parents forbade it... only because it was boring), and I'd stumble across a phone number underneath the words "Questions or comments, call".

I grabbed our cordless phone while pouring my second bowl of yummy, sugar-coated, flakes with the intent of simply talking to a representative about my cereal consumption as well as my personal opinions regarding their product. I figured they were used to getting complaints... cause, really, why else would you call? I decided I would make their day by just offering an innocent "comment" or asking a simple "question" about their product. On this particular occasion, I asked how they were able to cook such delicious sweetness into each and every flake. She prodded me as to why I was asking such a question. I struggled to think of a reason other than "Cause nobody else is around for me to talk to" and ended up with something like "cause every once in a while I stumble across a naked flake and I can't help but wonder what went wrong". Well she instantly asked for my name and address so she could send me a coupon for a free box of Frosted Flakes. I tried to explain that I wasn't unhappy with the quality of the product, but she wouldn't hear it.

It wasn't five days later I had my own personal 21 oz box of Frosted Flakes. The same thing worked with Strawberry Quick, by the way.

I got this letter in the mail the other day along with a check for $7. Thank you Del Monte. Even though you addressed the letter to a "Ms", the facts remain... you nourish my family and enrich our lives... everyday.