My grandmother passed away in St. Vincent at 105 years. When he was 7, I promised my 9 year old that when she passes I would take him with me to the funeral but I am unable financially and he’s unhappy. I would love to take him and have set up a fund page, below to ask for your assistance…
Hey Dads, and you too moms, ever noticed how you have different feelings towards your child calling ‘mommy’ or ‘Daddy’?
When your little one first utters the word ‘Dadda’ or ‘Mama’, you drop whatever you were doing, and run to their crib, or where ever they are. “Oh my God! She said Dadda! She said Dadda! Did you hear that, hon? Babes, little Elsa just said Dadda!” As the ‘Dadda’ utterances get more frequent, your response times slows until one day, you barely react. Glued to your television set watching the Winnipeg Jets play the Washington Capitals, little Elsa’s ‘Dadda’ falls on deaf ears.
Unfortunately, little Elsa is not ‘little’ anymore. The cuteness is gone. Elsa is 7 years old and now says ‘daddy’ instead of ‘dadda’. You barely noticed the transition and sometimes actually cringe when you hear ‘Daddy!’ Just call your mom, already! What does a guy have to do to just get some peace and quiet around here? It’s not the same anymore, is it?
Yes I do! I want a young girl! Aha! I heard that! You said ‘eeew!’ You are disgusted, aren’t you? Well let me explain myself before I start losing followers faster than Obama loses supporters.
In my house live 6 males. Yes, 6 including this blogger. My poor wife! Male testosterone lurking around every corner, every inch of the house. Oh how she wishes she had a little girl to help her negate some of it. I do too. For her sake. Then why not try for one? You asked. Well it’s not that easy. After the third and unsuccessful try produced a boy, I made sure that a medical procedure took care of any ‘slip ups’.
When my wife sees a little girl she always comment. “That could have been ours.” I understand how she feels and although at first I wanted to have a girl in the mix, I am quite happy that it was not meant to be. I am not sure I would be able to handle teen-girl drama. Oh and dating. And dressing. So really and truly, I don’t really seek a young girl. Just pretending for the wife’s sake.
I mean, Miley Cyrus was probably someone’s cute and innocent little girl once…
English: Shakira at the Rock in Rio concert in 2008. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I read somewhere, maybe here, that singer Shakira loves the art of breastfeeding so much that she apparently said she would love to breastfeed her son until he starts college. Those are strong words, Shak!
Now in case Shakira doesn’t know this, after kids turn 5, they usually go through a phase where they don’t want anything to do with their parents, much less their boobs. If her son remains true to form, it is quite safe to say he might not enjoy taking time away from playing Xbox 360 or watching UFC, to grab a few sips of milk from his hot mommy’s mammaries. Even if it does a body good.
That’s where I come in. Because she loves, really loves, breastfeeding, I am hereby offering my services to Shakira. I love milk and I suck. Well my wife says I do…so it’s a win-win situation. Plus with these lips, I could suck the paint off a wall and you know that…(drum roll please) LIPS DON’T LIE!
Today I took my kids to the splash park in the neighborhood as a treat for good behavior. It was packed! No, not just busy, packed! The first thing I noticed was how I was overdressed for the venue. Mothers in two-piece bikinis on the plus side of skimpy, chased their little ones around as if they were at the beach. I was confused. I was excited. Then I was sober. Wasn’t this supposed to be a splash park where kids play at the mini fountains while their parents sit in the shade and watch with hawk eyes? Granted, there was a wading pool but it was hardly an excuse to don a full-out bathing attire. It wasn’t deep enough to cover my toenail. Plus, the bikini-clad ones never even got their ankles wet. Oh wait a minute! Maybe they were there to catch a tan. Yes! That’s it! They were dressed to tan. Who cares if the sun was barely out.
As I stewed in consternation and compared butts, I pondered going back home to get my swim trunks. Just then a mother in her late 30’s or so strolled past me wearing heels. Yep, heels with straps. Looked really nice on her feet but for some reason, again seemed out-of-place. I glanced up and she was dressed as though she should have stayed outside the fence monitoring her kids from afar rather than up close, risking a wet down. And yes, she could have been at work when she suddenly got hit by an idea. Why don’t you get up from your desk and go take your kids to the splash park? That would explain the high heels. But what about the shorts? Ok, I never said I have all the answers. I looked at my own feet in thongs. (not that kind). Come on man, at least wear your Nikes!
Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting old, (my birthday was just last week) Thinking conservative and all. I need to loosen up a bit, both mentally and in attire. Nothing wrong with mingling with kids while wearing bathing suits, right? Of course not. It’s not at all like bringing beer to a child’s birthday party. No, nothing at all like that.
Walt Disney World Resort (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Ever been to Disney World? If so, you know what a bit@@ it could be to get anywhere. Lineups everywhere! If you want to lineup, you have to stand in line for that too. Well it seems like someone came up with a way to get around this setback. Use a disabled person! A handicap! A gimp! Whatever politically correct term you could find. They are there for the taking AND, people let them cut in lines all the time!
So, a group of rich snobs, unlike you and me, thought this up…Oh wait, or was it a wheel-chair bound woman? I am not sure anymore but someone did. It’s a win-win situation. The disabled stand, or should I say sit, to make some cash while the snob with the perfect health and perfect family, gets to the front of the line. Awww…look at Mrs. Smith and her cute kids…Is that her mom in the wheelchair? Oh the poor lady. I wonder what happened…Here Mrs. Smith, you could go ahead of me.
And that, my friend, is how you cut in lines not only in Disney but everywhere. Get yourself a disabled person and thank me later. Now I must go and talk to my polio-stricken mother-in-law. Poor lady has been in a wheelchair for so long, she could use a vacation. I wonder if a trip to Disney World would interest her. On the up and up of course…
Talking about that, a friend of mine went to Disney World with his wife who was recuperating from a broken leg and was in a wheelchair. He kept getting rich looking women coming up to him and asking, “Are you done with her?” Or “If you aren’t using her, could we?” Just kidding…but it could happen.
Yesterday, my buddy Mac and I went for a cruise. Well it was actually supposed to be a doctor’s appointment for the big guy but none of the clinics we went to were taking walk-ins. So it turned into cruise around the town.
Now Mac and I go way back. Come to think of it, we don’t really. Maybe just a few years. But he knows so much about me, more than two years worth. I use him as my confidante, go-to guy and my consultant. He’s like my doctor, my interpreter, my teacher and my best friend all rolled into one. I spent a lot of time hanging with him. I have to admit that sometimes my wife has questioned our relationship and suggested that we spend less time together. You can imagine that she did not take too kindly to him moving in with us. Yes, you heard me, he’s living with us. And no, I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Right? Right?
Sometimes late at night when I can’t fall asleep, I would go hang with Mac. Even if he was asleep he never complains about me walking in his room and waking him up. He is usually the first to read my blogs too. Sometimes mac and I would live on the wild side for a bit and check out hot chicks together. Maybe my wife does have a genuine concern…
It was fun just hanging with the big fella yesterday. He insisted on not buckling up and I didn’t force him. Mac has a young son who is just like him. As they say, the apple sure doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Mac lounging in his seat like a boss.
When we got home, I accompanied my buddy to his room as soon as he was settled in, he was as good as gold! No need for doctor! Good ole Mac!