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Sword Fight

I have a three year old son who is on the verge of being potty trained.

One night, in our routine, we were brushing teeth, using the potty, and going to bed. I had a sudden urge to relieve myself. I head to our bedrooms bathroom, doing my deed, when my wife walks in holding our son to say our goodnights. My son immediately said, “Daddy using the big-boy potty?” “Of course buddy, you can too! We can have a sword fight!” Fairly harmless comment, right?

That moment was one of those moments that you are so mad at yourself that you don’t have a camera at the ready; the look on my wife’s face, priceless.

“You, you would have a ‘sword fight’ with our son? Have you had one of these with someone before?” I knew I didn’t say something a pedophile would say, so I thought. But I said, “Sure, I’ve never done it with anyone, but he might enjoy it.”

My wife promptly left the room with a disgusted look on her face. I only stood there bemused, until I understood why she had such a look.

“Wait, you do realize when I say ‘sword fight’ that we would not touch them, just the streams?”

She blushed, thought about it, and then said, “Ohhh”.

Facepalm.

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The Rule of Three

There are three very important virtues to raising a family; Safety, Happiness, and Structure. I think, to an extent, that all parents have these same virtues in one way or another. How you implement them, use them, abuse them, and stand them is up to you; this makes you parents. One major problem with this though; these three virtues hate each other.

Think about a magnet. Magnets have complete opposite sides; basically a positive and a negative. If I were to have two magnets and attempt to place the positive to the positive, the magnet will forcefully disagree. They hate one side, but love the other. Now, add a third. Each magnet attempting to live peacefully but hating their opposite side. Push them together, attempting to touch their opposite enemy, now you have The Rule of Three.

Physically speaking, there is only one way to keep these magnets together; tape. Place three magnets on a table, place tape across the top, now you have a standing tower that is forced to coincide. The tape, in this metaphor, is dicsipline.

Dicsipline to keep The Rule of Three together is, arguably, the most difficult job there is. There is nothing more than I want than my kids’ happiness. Often times their happiness is dangerous (i.e. jumping on the bed). Often times structure makes them unhappy (i.e. bedtime). These three virtues are going to be the death of me. Welcome to parenting, right?

I think that this is the problem that needs to be solved. The problem, above all, will make me happy. This is not true. This is only the core, the structure of my life that need not crumble. If it were to crumble, well, the rest may as well not matter.

On top of all of this is expectations, however subtle. I do not think that my family, friends, or co-workers actively, or coinsciencly, expect me to do anything for them. This is my job, my responsibility, and my most pleasurable act of my existence.

Expectations can be massive boulders placed atop my shoulders. Most of these are placed there myself, without the help or knowledge of anyone else. This is how I live my life. This is my way of keeping myself honest, keeping myself along the path I laid, and keeping myself there for my family. There are days that these boulders of expectations are too heavy to handle. There are days I just want to drop to the ground and let the boulders pin me, tuck myself under them and hide from the sadness I can inflict on my loved ones if I do not follow through. This is what makes life, life. This is what makes me stronger, the longer I hold these boulders up, the stronger I get.

If there was a book on how to live your life right (I know there are plenty of the like) then everyone would be living happily, eating more healthy, life without war, life without complications, and living life without difficulties. What is the fun in that? I think these difficulties are strategically placed in order for us to learn, live, and survive. What other point would there be to live?

Moral of the story: Don’t Do Drugs!

Good God it’s Good Friday

I would consider myself a Christian. In my opinion, there are different levels of Christianity, as there are different religions. I believe in Jesus, God, and the Bible. I do not, however, consider myself sinless. I sin. You sin. We all sin for each other. How, exactly, do Atheists work?

If there is nothing to believe in, what do they believe? Atheism has been around for a long time and now showing your beliefs, or lack thereof, has become easier than ever. Enter, the internet. A place for annonmity, a place to express your opinions, and a place to learn.

I cannot live my life of nuances to no end. If there is no afterlife, what is there? Blank, darkness, vastness, and nothingness? Doesn’t sound appealing. Faith seems to be lost in this sea of blankness. If there is no faith – faith not necassarily meaning faith in God or Jesus – then what is there?

As different types of religions go, disagreements come. There will be neverending battles between oceans, nations, states, and individuals. I have faith that one day, or one eternity, that all will balance out; whichever beliefs hold true.

For those devout Catholics, Happy Good Friday; you probably won’t eat fish for an entire year. To those Christians, Happy Good Friday; always remember this day. For those Atheists, um, Happy Regular Friday.

Moral of the story: Don’t Do Drugs!

Guess What?

Ladies, you know the feeling. Men, probably more so.

My wife said she was late.
“Late for what?”, I respectfully reply.
“Duh”, was her only response.

Crap.

I learn all this at work. Work, is well work. I try anything to release my mind from trivialities and welcome any distractions, from work.

This, on the other hand, is not my idea of a “happy distraction”. A “happy bomb” is a better word for this distraction and I have nine hours left of self-piting work of guilt/horror/anxiety. My idea of a good day.

I guess I should mention here that we already have three kids, a mortgage, a puppy, and in-laws to already deal with. If our plate is not already full, why not adding to it, no? Yes, no. Let’s not go there.

I finally end my grueling shift of what I like to call, Other Happy Distractions; no need for detials.

Now I’m driving home from work, stopping at the store for a pregnancy test and toilet paper, attempting not to pass out and lose control of my vehicle (you’ve all been there, I’m sure). Pregnancy test and toielt paper. Something is ironic about this but I can’t place it.

I make my way to where the tests are shelved and my horror distinctively heightens. I define myself as a secure male. I will, and have, picked up tampons for my wife and I’m not embarassed to do it. Unnamed grocery store, fire the person who decided where to shelve stock. A male walking into an area only designed for woman (tampons, pads, pregnancy tests, hemroid creme, ect.) is only asking for a male-horomone-enhanced-meltdown. My first thought, Where’s the camera? That is just an uncomfortable area for a male.

I grab a cheap brand, Answers, and bolt out of the area in search for a more desirable product of purchase; maybe. I’m rocking around the store, rather large, attempting to find said toilet paper. I welcome this thought. However, I can’t find them. Being alone, pregnancy test in hand, everyone can see the one item I have to purchase so far. And they know the feeling. Look after look of shock, then pity, then anger, then sadness. How do I place it all? I can’t find the damn toilet paper!

Finally, I give up. I find an isle with an employee and swallow my pride; if I still had it at this point. Seriously, this guy had a mullet. Then, as I started with my inquiry, his mullet-sporting-head-judgemental-front-eyes actually judged me. Judged. Me. Granted, I was asking where the toilet paper was with the hand holding the pregnancy test. This only looked too weird. If only someone had taken a picture or video, I would have posted it. Probably not, but maybe.

I hear him chuckle as I scurry away, shoving anger past the large ball of anxiety down my gullet. Snatch the toilet paper, head to the U-scan, averting all eye contact, and haul out.

I get home to kids in bed, thank God, to my wife already in the bathroom applying cream to her beautiful face. She quickly looks away as I walk in, attempting to conceal the cream on her face blinding me, and says hello. She proceeds to tell me the wonderful kids story of the day, and any other day would be more than happy to listen, and I said, “Yea, honey, that’s great. Pee on the stick.” What can I say, I’m a romantic.

Test comes back negative, I think. Hard to tell sometimes with the devil-red lines; so condescendingly “ha-ha” about it. Now way, there’s no second red line. Score!

Moral of the story: Don’t Do Drugs!

Also, how would like your significant other to sport this t-shirt to drop the bomb? It should be a T-Rex holding a baby, that would generate the same response from a male.

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