First paw
The pacifier works entirely too well. After inserting this little miracle into his mouth the other night, I wrote three short novels while he slept. Except replace “wrote three short novels” with “grabbed a beer and watched Futurama reruns”.
My parenting skills kick ass.
Answer: This much
Question: Based on the first four weeks of your life, how much confidence do you have in your dad’s ability to raise you into a functioning, well-adjusted member of society?
Roll on!
We have a roller. The past two nights, little 4-week-old Troy has decided that he doesn’t like to be on his stomach, so he flips himself over onto his back. I have video evidence, but, of course, I don’t have the necessary equipment to transfer my proof to the Internets. A Firewire adapter and cable are on order, though, so beware, fearless reader, that you are about to be inundated with Sagara Home Videos.
I'm Scottish, bitch!
My grandparents are leaving next month to go on an 18-month mission for the Mormon church. Grandma and Grandpa are big into genealogical research, and supposedly Scotland has a huge geneaological research center, so they volunteered to go over there and help the church sift through the mountains of data. Very noble of them.
My mom and her siblings threw a nice little going away party for Grandma and Grandpa this past weekend, and it was there that I found out about my Scottish heritage. Apparently I descend from the Gillespie and MacDonald clans, so if anyone knows how I can exploit this newfound information for untoward financial gain, please contact me immediately.
Happy Special Occasion Day!
My sister is special. Allow me to explain.
Last year, when she turned 30 Some Unspecified Age, she was all fired up. She was so gung ho, in fact, that she rounded up about 10 of us for a birthday bash in Las Vegas. Turning 31 Some Unspecified Age + 1, however, must be entirely different. The laws of birthday physics apparently no longer apply when you reach the age of 31 Some Unspecified Age + 1. As such, at dinner last night we were instructed that today (her actual birthday special occasion) was not to be referred to as her “birthday”, but instead as a “special occasion day”. (In related news, in a recent scientific survey of a group of one guy named Jon, the majority strongly felt that from this day forward I should be called Captain Kickass.)
Baby REALLY does not respect protocol
Within a 5-minute span of time, Troy:
- Unloaded in his diaper while feeding.
- Spit up most of what he had eaten, all over Kelly.
- Spit up more while on his changing mat, getting some in his hair.
- Unloaded in his NEW diaper after I had just changed him.
- Peed on me, the changing mat, himself, the blinds, and everything within a 30-foot radius while I attempted to change him again. I had him covered this time, too. He must’ve had that thing tucked down and away, Buffalo Bill style. Sneaky little shit.
I had to call in reinforcements. It must have been quite a sight for Kelly to behold: me, stripped down to my shorts, thoroughly disgusted with having been peed on (that hasn’t happened since my college days), while Troy was lying buck-naked in his own urine on the changing mat next to a dirty diaper.
JOTD: Calling in sick
A boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had phoned in sick one day.
Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialled the employee’s home phone number and was greeted with a child’s whisper.
“Hello?”
“Is your daddy home?” he asked.
“Yes,” whispered the small voice.
“May I talk with him?”
The child whispered, “No.”
Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, “Is your Mummy there?”
Everybody leave... I have to poop!
(Not really… he was just fussy, but fussiness is never as funny as poop jokes.)
