Saturday, January 23, 2010

Snow Patrol

At least this time around, Tom is not screaming his freakin' head off. It's only been two weeks since 'the ice incident', so I was rather impressed. Okay, he doesn't exactly look thrilled, but can you blame him? Even Vena shied away from furniture in general for over a year after her 'sofa incident'. It was really cute, though, how Peter and David completely ignored Tommy's snow phobia and still managed to have a good time.

I fell off a horse one time and vowed to never again get back on one. I've held true to that promise, but insane people everywhere keep trying to convince me that riding horses is fun. Yeah, whatever, freaks. Somewhere deep down, I know they are right; the problem is that I also know they are certified nutcases and there is no way in hell that I'll get back on one of those evil creatures. Ever.

Just because I don't take crazy advice, doesn't mean that I can't force it upon my children. Peter crashed and burned big time when he first learned to ride a bike. He cried, begged and pleaded for me not to force him back on. I, of course, laughed and made him skin his other knee just for shits and giggles.

With David ... well, David's not such a good one to compare, since he has no fear of anything and pain is so obviously not a deterrent to repeating whatever stupid thing he has just done to inflict pain upon himself and/or others.

Tommy, on the other hand, would have been perfectly content to never see a sled again in his life. He has spent the past two weeks freaking out every time he caught a glimpse of snow. Since the town is covered in the white powdery stuff, it was high time for Tommy to get back in the saddle. Yes, I volunteered.

At least this time, I picked a small hill and did not gain enough speed to snow plow the poor kid under six feet of snow. He didn't exactly laugh, he didn't exactly cry. He did carefully watch as Peter and David were pulled up the mountain by two sled dogs and motioned for Mama to follow them.

For a change, Mama actually followed instructions. Tom didn't give up his petrified look of perpetual hesitation, but he did manage to giggle when Mama finally let go of the sled. Just briefly, though. It turns out that hitting a tiny rock and doing a face plant in the snow is exactly the type of thing that will bring back repressed snow memories and haunt kids for the rest of their lives. Wow, congratulations, honey! All that, and it's not even lunch time.

Even if it hadn't been feeding time, there was no way in hell that Tommy was having any part of the whole 'snow' thing. Bad horse! Instead, Mama took the frozen cowboy back to the ranch for a Kleenex and some warm grub.

After a belly full of hot courage, Tommy wanted to signal to Martha just how cool he could be.

After 'Cool kids gone wild', we decided to switch to the cooking channel.

Peter and Eisi started cooking and at first, it reminded me somewhat of Angie's sporadic culinary attempts - huge mess, lot's of smoke. There was only one minor difference that had something to do with being edible, but let's not open a can of sofa that I'll just have to sleep on. Luckily, my coveted spot was already taken by an animal who was not already in the dog house.

I appreciate that Eisi sacrificed his face to keep Cujo from attacking Peter, I just don't understand why everyone is laughing. Someone needs to cool that dog down.

Tom's brain is only one, but it's had plenty of exposure to how Peter and David handle similar situations. I'm just guessing here, but I think he got the idea to water the dog from David. Whatever - it cooled him down and there's nothing like that 'wet dog smell' to tucker you out.

Okay, for Eisi, he needed a bit more to make him sleepy.

Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I could ski on how I go on a snowboard.
David: When I go'ed skiing so cool and bweesh!

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't play with mommy 'cause Tom cry so much.
David: By skiing when I go crack! Owa.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with Eisi and Martha.
David: To go shweesh, bweesh and I go with Eisi again 'cause that fun I like.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Blade Runners

I'm so freakin' smart that sometimes my nose actually starts to bleed. When Angie told me this morning to 'take the monsters and get the HELL out of my house', I hatched the perfect plan - ice-skating! I didn't quite understand why my nose didn't immediately start gushing, but Mommy Dearest was searching for coat hangers, so we got the hell out of there. As requested.

I was actually not aware that there are places open on Sundays other than pubs, but hey - live and learn. Brian was the teacher for today's lesson. He called this morning and suggested going to 'The Ice Rink'. I thought it was an odd name for a pub, but whatever; Angie was on her Sunday rampage and suddenly frosty beer sounded mighty tasty. I'm in.

We got to the rink and, aside from my initial disappointment for completely non-alcoholic reasons, we were confronted by a long line of other dads who had apparently been chased out of their caves. After spending almost an hour getting into the damn place and waiting in line for skates and Kevlar helmets, the kids were tuckered out and wanted a break. What? We haven't even gone on the ice yet, you lazy-asses!

I actually think they were just being chicken shits because a) they've never gone ice-skating and b) as we approached the rink, a 30-year-old man did the most awesome and incredibly painful face-plant right in front of the kids. Come on, guys - this is gonna be FUN!

Even David, who completely cracked up at the poor injured man, shook his head and pointed to the bleachers. Brian and I quickly realized that we would not make it on the ice without a little liquid courage. It was also my first time ice-skating and after watching Mr. Nose Dive, it did not take a lot of arm twisting to pound a few drinks.

In hindsight, we probably shouldn't have let them drink so much. Of course, that's pretty much the advice my liver gives me on any given Sunday, so I could hardly blame the caffeinated crew for ignoring us as they gulped two Cokes and a Fanta in preparation for kissing ice.

Dalia and Brian have skated before, a tid-bit of useful information that was conveniently left out during the planning discussions for today's fun outing. When we finally did get on the ice, we watched as Brian and Dalia gracefully skated away. That doesn't look that hard.

What was hard was the cold ice floor that my ass slammed down upon mere seconds after pulling away from the gate. Peter would have laughed, but he was too busy holding on to me until his ass found a nice and not-so-cozy spot next to mine. David, who is normally far from being the sensible one, shook his head again and explained to me 'I are not big enough, Papa. I go now sit down, okay?'.

It was about that point that I realized what a colossally stupid idea it was to try and teach a three and five-year old how to ice skate on my first ever escapade. Instead, I joined Davey on the bleachers and delegated the father-son bonding to Brian.

In the end, this actually turned out to be more fun, at least for me and David. We had a ball cracking up at Peter's repeated attempts to bring down Mr. 'ooh-look-at-me-I-can-skate'. Peter continued to weaken Brian and after about an hour, Peter finally succeeded in dragging Broke-back Brian down.

David's cheers for an encore were ignored. Maybe the preceding five minutes of laughter and finger pointing played a role in the subsequent curtain-call on our Sunday matinee.

I came home to find that Tommy had taken a power nap for, uh, pretty much all day. Judging by Angie's bed head, I deduced that Tom was not the only one who had snoozed away Sunday. Peter and David racked out in no time at all, but Tom...well, he wasn't so sleepy.

Tom started to charge me, so I of course grabbed my camera. This was actually a three-picture sequence, but the last shot got a little blurry when Tom jumped on me and started beating me in the face and neck with a wooden sword. It must have been a damn good idea, though, because soon after the father-son smackdown, my nose started bleeding. Thanks, Temper Tom!
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I go ice-skating with my Dalia.
David: To go skating on the ice.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't play with Dalia more because we go from the ice place.
David: When I cannot have a C.D. because it is too late.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to play with these skates.
David: To play with Peter.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

One of these kids is...not like the others

When I was still a tiny bastard, I had to babysit my little sister one time. In her usual infantile brilliance, she decided to climb to the top of our couch and just hang out. At one point, I heard grunting noises and looked over to see Vena had somehow managed to wedge her butt in a small gap between the wall and the sofa, thanks to a wall-mounted radiator. Seeing her arms and legs flailing about, I started cracking up. Her grunting soon turned into full-on screaming and that's when it hit me. Get the camera!

Today was Tom's first sled ride, so I thought he would be thrilled to share this moment with his idols. It was also my first sled ride, so I wasn't sure what to expect. When I heard grunting noises, though, my instincts kicked in and I grabbed the camera. Man, other people's misery is funny, isn't it?

Ah, Tom didn't think so. In fact, he continued screaming his head off for the next hour as PeDalia and BriDave raced up and down the hill.

For some people, it just takes time watching crazy people do crazy things before they build up the courage to try it themselves. That certainly explains how and why I got married. After an hour of spectating from the sidelines, I picked up signals that Tom was ready for his virgin slide.

I must repeat - I had never gone sledding either, so I asked Brian for the gist of it.

'Point your sled, push off, brake with your feet.'

Holy thanks, Explanatory-man! I followed these detailed words of 'wisdom' and yes - there is a reason that I used quotes. I pointed, I pushed. Above the wind roaring in my ears, I could hear Tom giggling away. Great. So far.

At the bottom of the hill, I followed Master's directions and dug both feet into the ground. Suddenly, ploughs of snow were flying past me and we stopped. Cool!

Uh, not cool. Tom didn't start screaming right away, but only because he was busy choking on a mouthful of snow. I dismounted the sled and soon saw the source of Tom's silent screams. He looked like an extremely pissed off skunk, actually. He had a white streak of snow and ice going from his toes to his hair thanks to Brian's sure-fire way of braking.

As funny as other people's misery can be, I could not bring myself to leave Tom screaming to run off to get the camera. I know, I know - with Vena, I did exactly that, but she's only a sibling. You're supposed to do mean things to your kinfolk - just ask Christine. She almost broke my damn nose one time showing me her new karate trick that 'won't hurt at all, I promise'.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't contemplate the whole camera thing, but asides from just being too cruel, there were witnesses. Instead, I scooped the snow out of Tom's mouth, nose, and ears, and took him to our car. After twenty minutes of warm air mixed with carbon monoxide, we were ready to hit the slope again.

We, in this case, turned out to exclude Tom, who freaked right the freak out when I opened the door and he caught a glimpse of snow. Boy, this is going to be a fun winter.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: As I played with Artin snow balls and then went riding hills with Dalia.
David: Snow balls and POW! I got you.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't play more with Artin 'cause I needed to go have fun with Dalia.
David: When I can't not play more with Dalia, okay?

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with Artin.
David: To play with Peter like I are a cow, okay?

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Attack of the Snow Cone

I think it's great that Sharpur wanted to build a snowman with the boys, I just wonder who the hell taught him that they should be shaped like a pyramid. It didn't help that he cracked open the only round part of his creation while trying to shove in the biggest carrot nose I have ever seen in my life. Sharpur looked a little disappointed as Frosty's cranium crumbled to the ground, but I think my laughing helped. Nice snow cone, buddy!

After Geometric Snowshapes 101, we moved on to pelting the kids with frozen water.

It's a little hard here to tell if the snowball was being thrown at or by Artin. I wouldn't want my two readers to lose any sleep wondering, so let me just put that one to bed. It was thrown, full-force, at Artin's head, who somehow managed to karate chop it to powder. I won't say who was pelting ninja boy in the head, but I will state that snowman building can apparently be a tad bit frustrating for some people.

To calm things down, Sharpur took the boys on a magic carpet ride.

After approximately one minute and twenty-three seconds, the rug rats lost interest in Steppenwolf and demanded to be fed. What Sharpur lacked in snowbuilding he made up for in snacking.

Milk and cookies - what a great idea! That is, of course, if you ignore the inevitable aftermath of inhaling round sugar patties. I didn't care, though. Captain Peter was sleeping over, so I just mentally chuckled as they devoured their hyperinducing morsels.

At one point, I smelled energy in the air and sensed that things might get ugly soon. I grabbed David and Tom and wished Sharpur and Shayeste a fun-filled night with the caffeinated.

At home, Tom launched his own search for candy. After running around the house in circles for an hour, he sat down in David's chair for a five minute breather. Mistake. Rested, he continued his quest, but somehow 'the stash' continued to elude him.

Eventually, we did point out to Lollibutt that he should probably never ever sit in David's spot again; next time, he might not be that lucky. At some point, David strolled in the room.

'Hey! That's mine!'

Yup, you guessed it. Yuck.

Barb and Armin came over and ordered pizza and chicken wings instead of accepting our very generous offer of Ramen noodles and stale bread. Barb chuckled at our hospitality and began plotting something with the animals.

I have no idea what it was, only that it must have been evil judging David's grin. Just remember, buddy - payback is hell.

You know what else is hell? Getting a call from your firstborn who is spending the night at a friend's house and supposed to already be asleep because it is two and half hours after his normal bedtime but is instead wide awake and whining on about his missing snuggle bunny. I could only make out bits of his conversation through his incoherent sobbing and snotting.

'Papa, I need to come home. I don't have my bunny!'

'What?! Are you kidding me? Do you know what time it is? If you ever want to leave the house again, you better...'

Mama was motioning for the phone, so I handed it over. Yeah, you go, Mama - slam him! Show him who's boss! And tell him that hell will freeze over before we...

'Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. Papa will bring over your bunny right away.'


At that point, I started hyperventilating and really don't really remember the next five minutes. When the haze lifted, I was glad to see that I hadn't beaten Angie with the phone. But only kinda glad, you know.

In all fairness, I can understand why Peter was upset; he has slept with this damn bunny every night of his life. In all stupidity, though, I cannot begin to understand how Mama managed to forget to pack Peter's essential rabbit. Even stupider - she suddenly volunteers me as the delivery boy? Payback is hell, woman.

You know what is worse than hell? Losing poker to your wife and her non-Ramen-noodle-and-stale-bread-eating sister all night.

Luckily, that didn't happen. After a long night of delivering stuffed animals to spoiled kids, I was in no mood to show mercy. Anger was on my side and even one of Sharpur's Frosty snow cones couldn't freeze my payback over.
Ladder Talk:
[Peter was too busy crying his eyes out to do Ladder Talk]
1) What was the best part of your day?
David: When I make snow balls on your head - bonk, bash - ha, ha - you wet!

2) What was the worst part of your day?
David: When I can't not more with Barbara and Armin play.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
David: To play with Peter when he are back.

Laundry Pile Attacks Innocent Blogger

I remember the events of the tragic day unfolding something like this.

'Hey honey, if you decide to do laundry this year, I need socks, underwear, pants and shirts. Thanks, you're a gem.'

'You have everything clean.'

'Uh, that's not what my empty dresser says.'

'I haven't folded everything yet - they're in the baby room.'

When I opened the door, I felt something breathing on me and I could swear I heard grunting. I nervously flipped on the light switch and was suddenly attacked by the most vicious pile of clean laundry I have ever encountered.

'Clean', my ass! It was horrible! I can barely write about the whole ordeal. That heap of clothes pounced on me and did things to me that will haunt me forever.

My muffled screams went unanswered, as did the many questions running through my head. Why me? What did I do to provoke this attack? Why did this woman spend the entire winter break washing and not fold a single sock? Why couldn't she just fold the damn clothes like a normal human?

Friday, January 8, 2010

Has anyone seen my keys?

I have often wondered what mysteries are locked up in Angie's brain; I just never tried gouging my way through with a key.

When I came home from work today, Scarface explained to me how she had nearly lost an eye getting out of the car. I am sure her explanation made perfect sense to her, but I was cracking up too hard to really get all the details. It's called IQ, sweetie, not eye key.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Get wiggy wit it!

Why is it always the bald kid who wants to throw wig parties? Whatever. Johnny Mac can certainly confirm that there are stranger things to do on your 40th, but the rest of us with hair indulged Kojak's birthday wish.

Angie and I are a lot like Superman and Clark Kent. Angie would of course be the geeky, shy one with glasses and a candy bar name, but the point is - we are never seen in the same pub at the same time. At least not since we started procreating like Mormon bunnies, but what the hell would they be doing in an Irish pub anyway? Doesn't matter - for Damo's 40th, we cashed in our AWESOME Christmas gift that we got from Ute - a voucher for a free night of sitting on our babies. Did you say free? Well, hell - sign me up twice.

When Angie and I walked into O'Reilly's, I had to spend fifteen minutes explaining to the lads that I wasn't cheating on my wife with some tart.

'You idiots, that tart is my wife!'

Angie shot me her patented 'you're an idiot' glare. What?

To avoid answering rhetorical questions, I mozied over to the birthday boy and started warming up for the dart championship.

You would think that playing darts at someone's 40th might label you as anti-social, but that would also label you a woman. The super-man in me thought it was freakin' awesome! Damo had organized an entire 'boys night out' motif. Wii games, darts, pool, porn - man, you're the coolest old-timer ever! I'm still not sure how the wigs fit in, but then again, I have hair.

Middle-aged men can apparently throw some mean darts even when they're happy. Damo won the dart tournament and was quite happy with himself. Sinead showed up with a kick-ass buffet to feed the winner, which led to yet another shit-eating grin.

You know what - if you're so freakin' happy, why don't you just print it on a t-shirt and announce it to the world? Oh, I see - never mind.

Mr. Happy wanted to make the ladies happy as well. I normally buy flowers, but birthday boy apparently goes for the second date straight away.

Yes, Angie is grinning like the village pervert over a framed picture of Damo in his birthday suite. Note to self: no more flowers for the tart. Note to Damo: get a bigger leaf.

I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit that Damo's self-portraits were hot, but after years of cohabitating with Angie, I've been conditioned to associate 'hot' with stupid people setting things on fire. Luckily, it was only a birthday cake and Angie was busy ogling Damo's centerfold.

After the frosted fire cake, we made Mr. Happy grin again by giving him an ostridge egg.

I never said it was difficult to make the guy happy. If I had been given the dead seed of a large flightless bird, my birthday shirt probably would've read 'Mr. You Suck'. Whatever - after having my ass handed to me in darts by Mr. Happy, I was not exactly Mr. Sensitive.

Being Mr. Ass actually paid off big-time in the pool tournament.

That's right. Now I was Mr. Winner - how do you like them apples? I searched the cheering crowd for my groupie, only to find Angie doing things to cardboard cut-outs of Johnny Chung that I've only seen on the Internet.

'Why you little tart! How could you possibly choose cardboad Johnny over Superman in a wig? Didn't I mention my trophy?'
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Davey Play-Doh.
David: When I makin' Play-Doh.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I have the hiccups.
David: When I played not more with the Play-Doh.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To get rid of my hiccups and go to kindergarten 'cause I want to play there with my friend Frieda.
David: To play with Peter animals.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Destructo Dave Smackdown

It all started with a thump. Followed by some mild wailing.

'Honey, did you drop Davey on his head again?'

'Yes, but it was an accident.'

'Yeah, they always are. Should I call child services now or are you going to endulge me?'

Angie rarely makes sense, but I've lived with the woman long enough to not let this get in the way. I struggled, but finally I got her version of the truth.

Apparently, David had run up to his caring and loving mother, complaining that his foot hurt.

'Your foot hurts? Aaah, you poor thing. Let me just ignore gravity for a sec and yank your feet up here so I can inspect them.'

[Disclaimer: I was slaving away in the kitchen when Mama decided to pile-drive David into the floorboards, so I can only rely on her testimonial, which was not fabricated in any way, shape or form.]

Monday, January 4, 2010

Feed us!

I don't know what's funnier - that Angie's mental calendar brain-farted on the actual date for our dinner with Grams and Opa or that they showed up anyway after Angie frantically called them from the restaurant asking them why the hell they hadn't shown up. We're hungry.

I would have to go with Angie screwing up. I know, this happens too often to feasibly keep track of, but it never ceases to amuse me. That, plus the fact that this time, it was clearly not my fault. As trivial as this may seem, Angie is the master at twisting blame and bending guilt and more often than not, I'm at the receiving end of her aggressive finger waggering.

Don't get me wrong - I'm certainly not an innocent virgin when it comes to angering Angie's digits. But, when it comes to organizing events on weekdays after 5:00 PM - Angie is both the Responsible and Accountable; I'm never Consulted and very rarely Informed. So, to make a long explanation blatantly clear using military slang - Angie was the one that screwed the pooch.

I racked my brain trying to come up with a clever way to segway from the previous paragraph to this one, but for my own personal safety, I'll just show Tom's new pet instead.

Holy crap! Look at that filthy animal! You can tell it's after dinner just by looking at Tom's shirt. You can probably even make out what he had attempted to eat. Someone should really beat the crap out of that boy's Mama with the hygiene stick. I know we have three kids and that the cleanliness level tends to drop a notch or twelve with each additional puppy, but come on! You would think that somewhere in the suitcase that Angie calls a purse you might find a wet-wipe or a napkin or at least a Brillo pad and kitchen sink to scrub off Pig Pen's chin gravy.

Peter and David tend to get giddy shortly after feeding. Something about mastication must release happy hormones that makes their brains giggle. Throw in an ice-cream and they just get their goofy on.

I don't know what's funnier - that after pinging Peter's Serotonin levels, we had the audacity to demand dinner again tomorrow night, at the same restaurant, for our originally scheduled date, or that Tommy's high chair had a label on it that read: 'Peg-Perego'. Okay, the last would only be funny if a) you're not Angie and b) you have read any of the stories from when Angie was preggified with Nonameyet.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I laughed 'cause Davey was dancing so funny.
David: When I danced so funny.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't play no more.
David: When I bonked me on my head 'cause my foot hurting was.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with Dalia.
David: To play bee-la-ka-lo.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Perpetual drinking

For Christmas, I got a lot of really cool gifts, but this drunken bird tops the list. It's hard to explain, unless you are a skilled blogger. Check out my skillz.

Uh, what you gotta do, see, is tip the bird into the water and, uh... hold on, first it swings! Yeah right, it swings. And then...hold on, shit! The water's gotta be room temperature water, and then you tip the bird and it drinks forever. Perpetually. It's awesome!

Okay, I'm not a skilled blogger, but I do like drinking, I do know birds and I'm tellin' ya - that was an awesome gift! I would expect no less from a skilled officer of the law. Sure, Götz denies to this day that he was ever on the police force, but I'm still not buying it. How else would Detective G know that perpetual motion has been a fascination of mine since I was a little kid? And explain to me how he could possibly know that I had a bird collection until I was twelve. I'm telling you, the guy is thorough! That, or maybe he's just a stalker.

Götz is going to be Tom's Godfather. This was decided back in October, but I am so far behind on writing that, other than Eisi's birthday, I simply ignored October. It never happened. Don't feel bad, Götz - Angie's birthday was also in October, but I didn't write about that, either. Of course, you haven't been asked to be Tom's Godfather three dozen times, so I can't really compare the two. I'm sorry, please don't arrest me.

On the way to Officer Godfather, the boys confirmed once again that they could never be mistaken for wise men.

Isabel knew the way to David's belly - sugar. Lot's of it. You'll regret that, woman.

As David was busy stuffing his face with gummy bears and pancake batter, Tom was falling in love with Lisi.

First of all, her red hair matched his shirt. Second, Tom knows that David LOVES red and would love nothing more than to make his big brother jealous. Third, she giggled when he started swallowing marbles and spitting them at her. NOBODY does that, so she of course thought that he was the cooler than me. I know, hard to imagine.

The older boys had moved on to older women. Especially those that sprinkle powdered sugar on their waffles.

There's only so far you can wind up a toy. Eventually, you hear that irritating clicking noise that tells most normal people to stop winding. After sprinkling powdered energy on to their hypercakes, Isabel allowed the boys to smear spreadable chocolate on their adrenaline snacks. Click, click.

Before I go on, though, let's pause for a second. Bow your head and take a moment of silence to appreciate the aftermath of such reckless feeding.

One minute, I was enjoying a cup of undercover coffee with Götz. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur run behind the Christmas tree. Huh? Why is David laughing?

Soon after, Tom started plucking Christmas balls off of the tree like they were basketballs and what else is one supposed to do with basketballs other than bounce them. Mama jumped behind the tree to stop Tommy tree-wrecker and screamed at me to bring her a wet-wipe.

'Who the hell gave Tom jelly? It's smeared all over the floor! Yuck - stop it, Tommy'

I just assumed that Angie did not actually want an incriminating answer to her initial question. Instead, I brought a wet wipe, which was apparently not wet enough. My advice to spit on it was overruled by the 'look'. I know the 'look'. I even give it sometimes. Tonight was not one of them, though.

As the boys started throwing buckets of marbles at their cat, I started thinking. It doesn't happen often, but every now and then I amaze myself, Angie and any others that happen to be close by when my intellectual epitome strikes.

'Angie, let's go.'

Yes, sometimes it's just that simple.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we go by the Lisi and she laugh 'cause she funny.
David: When Tom make the ball go boom and the bird is so funny.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David pull the spring animal so hard - too hard and it almost kaput.
David: When Mama say I are not a good boy when I laugh so long.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go to Dalia's.
David: To bring the rocket ship down and go bweeing, pang, zooooom!