Frenzied Daddy

It’s been over a week since I’ve posted anything of substance. I’m sorry- it’s been a long (and short) week. But to catch you up on my life;

Did I tell you about my weird fascination with IRC Images? Utterly Boring turned me onto it, as well as a similar entry for LiveJournal. The LJ one is probably safe, but the IRC one is totally randomly taken from some IRC channels; most likely not safe for kids or work. I find them fascinating for the randomness, and the IRC one expecially so, because by watching the pictures as they come across, you can get a sense of what people were talking about, and see various trends as they cross the IRC awareness.

Or did I tell you about the Ms’s birthday on Friday (last Friday)? She’s having fun, relaxing with some friends and a new PlayStation game. I would have wished her a happy birthday here, but it seemed a cheap effort for such an enthralling woman.

Or did I tell you about going to the State Fair yesterday? We opened and nearly closed the fair; shades of our last trip to Disneyland. The younger Ms B went on her first “big kids” rides and was thrilled speechless. She went on the big swing – twirly one and an Octopus-by herself! We told her that she only got a certain number of tickets, and if she wanted some company, that person would be using her tickets up, so she’d get less rides (I think I got ripped off!). She decided to maximize the fun by getting in as many rides as possible/

The Octopus was an interesting choice for her first ride. (Honey, you can stop reading now, you’ve heard this story before.) As I recall, it was one of my first “grown up” rides too- at the Alaska State Fair. And apparently the controllers or something broke and the machine went mildly too fast. All I remember about it was the sensation of the ride- I had nothing else to compare it against, so I don’t know about “broken.” And one of the women I used to hang out with continually reminded us of “the time she was on the Octopus and the car next to her flew off!” The octopus is the only ride I’ve ever had this close a “brush with death” with- driving I5 is more dangerous.

We also saw a record number of “Fair Shows” this time- a magic show, a dog and pony show (the pony was out sick) and a funny ventriloquist (Noseworthy is the dummy’s name, I don’t remember the human’s.). The younger Ms B saddened me slightly by telling me that the ventriloquist was controlling the dummy when he adjusted his belt; how long until ventriloquists are replaced by animatronics?

Finally, we saw some terrific photography and some great creations in the “hobby arts” building. I’m inspired again to enter some poetry, and I might consider some photography. All the entry info is online now, and so easy to get. I managed to snap a couple of shots of the rides in the dark (ok, one ride in the dark- the swing thing) using my “fireworks” setting, and they came out pretty well. I’m fascinated with night shots of lights like this, and how the lights that travel on the rides make neat Spirograph-esque patterns. I’d really like to spend some time focussing on shots like these, perhaps some evening at the Rose festival after most of the people have gone home (so I have less pedestrians in the pictures). Of course, (thanks Alli) I’ll have to use a tripod.

The gymnastics judging yesterday must have really offended Zeus; they had a tremblor yesterday.

The Elder Kid is off with her grandparents this week. Her mother and I have taken the opportunity to clean out, paint, and redecorate her room. We’re basing the decorations around some pieces Ms B got from work, and the other colors we’re using are … from the Behr Disney collection. You can get an idea of the colors over there too.

The colors we’re using are “April Blush,”(or as I call it Strawberry Milk, on three walls) “Clock Strikes” (lavender, on the ceiling and one closet), “Poo Bear Yellow” (a rich yellow for the trim) and “Pretty as a Princess” (fuschia, on one wall as an accent wall, jut like on While You Were Out and the other closet (because I ran out of the Clock Strikes) ).

I’ll post some pictures as soon as we get the room back together. It’s, um, pink.

Ms B came out to the living room the other night and berated me. You see- well, let me back up.

Probably my most favorite thing in the world is sleeping with a baby on my belly. The younger Ms B (the Elder Daughter, for those of you keeping track) has gotten to be too large (a whopping seventy pounds!) for this bliss. And because we’re a “sharing” household- we “share” feeding the baby. I get to feed the baby in the middle of the night while the rest of the house sleeps. I stagger out of bed into the nice cool house, pop the bottle of breast milk into the warmer, change the infant and stick the bottle in her mouth.

Of course, I want to be comfortable; and the most comfortable place for me to do this is ahem on the couch. Cuddled up.

So, the mother of the child comes storming out of the bedroom roughly two hours after I get up to “feed the baby.” We’re zonked out on the couch, and she needs to feed the baby (You can imagine what I mean without me getting graphic, right?). I’m informed that if I ever, ever do that again, I lose my baby feeding priviledges. Presumably, I’ll get to sleep while she takes over. (laugh).

Last night was different, though- I brought the kidlet out to feed her, plunked down on the couch, and roused myself later. Unfortunately, it was apparent that the girl wasn’t really hungry- because I had been feeding her in the ear! Busted again! This morning, she had milk crusts all over the side of her face and in her little ear crinkles.

Well, it looks like I’m not the only one who gets subjected to Snorons from the baby- look at this sweet picture I caught.

This is an ugly t-shirt. But it’s true. And either I had the best doctor of all my snipped friends, or I got very lucky- because it’s not nearly as bad as the hype lead me to believe. Sure, I’m sore and I have a little bruising, but hey, it’s all good in the name of zpg

This site is chock-full of leftie propaganda. Check it out

Grimnor is a strange cat. He’s the eldest of our three boy cats. He was adopted by Perrin (border collie) and has been kind of roughed up. He does get kind of insistent about being comforted in the middle of the night, but don’t pick him up or hug him- that’s the fastest way to get him to leave. He wants the attention, but he wants it on his terms.

He shares his name with Odin, the Norse All-father.

I’ve recently added a new ‘blog to the ole roll over on the sidebar. It’s the zeroboss- he commented on my gmail wonderings (Hi ZB!). I followed him back to his site, and found a humorous, scatological assortment of posts on fatherhood. He also has undergone a vasectomy.

That’s very interesting to me, expecially his description of the pain involved, because Friday I’m going to the doctor to have one of my very own. Yes, it’s true- and furthermore, apparently I come from a long line of neutered men. Well, I guess my Dad had one. Yes, after I was born (where do you guys come from anyway?).

I tell my wife, it’s because it’s the third thing I can do to score some chicks- “Hey babe, wanna see my vasectomy scar?” It’s like getting a wedding ring or pushing a stroller- women see it and they go nuts for you. Throw themselves at your feet. Or so the literature tells me.

The real reason? I’ve always wanted one and so I’m going to treat myself.

Or “How I learned to quit worrying and love the cats.”

I told you, a few weeks ago, about the bird-marauder Kalafae. Well, Alice is not to be outdone- sunday afternoon, I dozed with Baby K through the heat of the afternoon. Well- I dozed until, with a pair of shrieks, Ms B and the Elder “alerted” me to the presence of a real live honest mouse in the kitchen. Trapped, as they say, like a rat- with Alice. Alice is our indoor male cat. He’s not allowed outside. I have no idea where he happened to find a mouse, although we’re rumoured to have mice in the basement somewhere.

I managed to get Alice cornered in the kitchen, with his prize halfway in his mouth (head first, like all good divers). I could not get him to “let go” like I do with the dogs. I had to jam my thumb into his jaw to get him to release. The mouse hit the ground running, panicked out of his little mousey brain, across the floor, into my outstretched leg, then of course along my leg and up into my shorts.

Did I mention that I was going commando, to catch the occasional breeze? I shrieked like a girl!

Alice assisted me in re-acquiring the mouse, and finally I got it away from him. By then, the mouse was, as they say, an ex-mouse.

I thought the situation was solved. Until last night, when in one of my midnight ramblings to the changing table and back, I had a hallucination- Alice had a (smaller) mouse in his mouth. I ignored him, wished him the best of luck, and went to bed, forgetting about it. Who was I to challenge nature?

And then Ms B tells me this afternoon- Alice has another mouse. Maybe I should look for the mouse house, because this one is obviously a baby. We don’t need any mousy babies around here, thankyouverymuch. Don’t leave this, she tells me, for the cats to sort out.

So I’ve ordered Mouse Depots– they check in, and you check them out. Humane and safe, so they tell me. We’ll see when they get here.

PS. I wish I could figure out how to hold the camera steady to get these neat natural light photos.

I finished mowing the back forty this weekend. It’s not really forty, more like two and a half (feet, not acres) but it takes me a while because I so rarely mow it. I was more gung-ho earlier in the summer. I peaked early and it’s all downhill from here. And as I’m mowing down the blackberry bushes (hey, am I shooting myself in the proverbial foot by mowing the blackberry bushes into mulch and dumping them by the fence? ), something small, green and lithe leaps from one frond to another.

MS B! Come Quick! You’re Needed!

What is it, daddy?! What?!

I had interrupted her Heroes of Might and Magic (IV) game; to tell her that I’ve spotted a bug that needs preserving. She dashes inside and comes back out with a tupperware. “Um honey,” I begin, “grasshoppers don’t bite. You can pick them up in your hands. ” I recieved a withering look. Together we look closer at the blackberries (and morning glory and random bits of grass) and discover three grasshoppers. She hands me the tupperware. “Look, here’s the deal. You rescue the bugs, and I let you keep the Bug Sanctuary.”

Daddy, could you please catch them?

*Grunt* “I guess. Here, hand me your tupperware.” … We rescued about eight grasshoppers ranging in size from large(1.5″ body) to fairly small (0.5″ body). One of them escapes from the tupperware and lands on my hand. “AUUUUUGHHHH!! GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME! ” I holler. It raises one grasshopper eyebrow at me and leaps back into the path of the lawnmower. I swear I saw it chain itself to a blackberry cane.

“Daddy, that doesn’t help me.”

The darling girl managed to release a few of the grasshoppers into the sanctuary, primarily by loosening the top off the tupperware and throwing the whole thing into the grass and asking me to rescue the plastic. Even though I reassured her about six times that “grasshoppers do not bite,” she was still a little “shy” around them.