Sunday, November 23, 2008

What's a blonde's favorite wine?

See Barb. See Barb drink. See Barb brink and dabysit.

I am pretty sure after this blog, I will be seeing a close-up of Barbara's foot, but I could not resist. Sorry, I blame Oscar Wilde.

Peter somehow found out at school that he only needs to write a list to Santa and he can get whatever he wants. I thought I was safe for a few more years because, like whistling, Peter cannot write. Some little brat at his kindergarten also informed him that Mama and Papa can do the writing, though.

I spent the first half of the morning writing an ever-growing list of what Santa would thoroughly enjoy bringing our kids for CHRISTmas. That is not a typo. CHRIST is exactly what I was thinking as I calculated in my head the number of banks Santa would have to rob this year to afford the first fifty lines. I then spent the rest of the morning encouraging our kids to be bad until I looked up the price of coal. CHRIST!

Next, the boys picked up 'the sword'. This inevitably results in them beating the absolute shit of of one another and normally ends up with me taking away 'the sword'. 'The sword' has a history of being taken away. Allow me, since you have no other choice, to explain.

This sword was mine, when I was still a young sword-swinging punk. I loved this sword. I also loved whacking my older sister on the head with this sword. My Dad, for some strange reason, did not like this little hobby of mine. My own personal belief is that he enjoyed it, but was annoyed by the screaming and whining that normally pursued my sibling head-bashing.
Back in '82, there was no writing on the sword. It was a pure Luke Skywalker laser, baby. I stupidly ignored my father's repeated warnings and it was taken from me, with the cruel statement that it would be returned to me when I had kids of my own. Since at that time, I thought girls were disgusting, it meant my sword was lost forever.

As the years went on, I continued to demand my toy back from my namesake. 'You don't have kids' was the typical response. Damn him.

Angie does not know it yet, but the only reason I married her and had kids was to get my damn toy back. That sword is freakin' awesome, though, so I am sure you can understand. You can probably also understand my disappointment when we had given birth to Peter and my Darth Vader flew over to visit.

'Hey Dad, nice to see you, I have a kid now, where's my sword?'

'Read the fine print, son. It says 'kids' not kid.'

'Damn you.'

I did not give up so easily. Somehow, I tricked Angie into pluralizing our kid. The next time my dad flew over, I confronted him again. By now, it was such an ongoing joke that I did not really expect my dad to have my sword after 20+ years, but my dad has always been one to surprise. He whipped out the sword and said 'you're going to need to find room for your own engravings, because your boys will drive you nuts with this thing'.

I laughed at the time. Now, I just hate admitting that my dad was right. It wouldn't be the first time that I laughed at my dad only to find out he was not wrong. I can still remember the time he told me that Angie was the right girl to settle me down. I giggled my ass off and next thing you know...CHRIST!
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with David swords.
David: When Barbara and Eisi come.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David hit me with a sword.
David: When Gizma scratch me.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with you and David football.
David: When we go in Grams and Opa.

see related cartoon


  1. My brother gave my son a sword and he proceeded to beat the heck out of him with son ... not my brother...Well, you know. Found you on Blogerella...wait, how is that spelled? Well...whatever. Found you there. Will wander back from time to time to harass and laugh.

    Loved the post.

  2. Thanks Jonny's Mommy! I just hope my old man doesn't get any ideas, like beating me with that sword on his next visit - it would take one hell of whoopin' to make up for all the lost time.