My happiness is your gift

My birthday started out with coffee and traffic. At least the coffee was hot, and traffic meant that I spent less time at work. Everyone knows that work is a four-letter word, and even if I look on the brighter side, the day was still a pain in the ass. Luckily, Angie was in charge of the evening.

Feeding the animals, brushing their teeth, and getting them into pajamas was an easy task. Getting Tommy to actually sleep - worthless. See, Tommy had taken a power nap at kindergarten, so he was giggling hysterically at my birthday wish for him to dream sweetly. After an hour and a half, I emerged from the bedroom victorious. I always do.

As I danced my victory lap into the living room, I noticed that Angie was smiling. This by itself it not unusual - it's even been known to happen more than once a year. The second thing my trained eye picked up on was Ute lying on the sofa. At first glance, it looked like she had settled in for a comfortable night of watching TV and listening for wild animals that go bonk ga-bank haw-freaky-tank in the night. Hey, wait a minute - did Angie arrange someone to sit on our babies?

Yes, Tweety Bird, 'she did, she did!'.

The night was AWESOME. Angie and I hit the pub where we met, only now it is known as 'Brass Monkey' and not 'Napper Tandy's'. On our first night, Angie and I hated each other with a mutually verbal passion. It was cool that we did not have an encore for my birthday. Instead, Angie abandoned me to go play table soccer. On her behalf, I must admit that I rather enjoyed the manly-man beer-talk at the bar with the boys as the women and Walid (no offense) dominated the soccer table.

I took my Cinderella home at high-five before midnight, but trust me - I did not waste any time with trying on stinky ball slippers. Angie denies with a passion that any part of her body could smell like anything other than roses. She also believes that Yeltsin is spelled with a 'J', though, so what does she know? Other than how to organize a cool night out, of course.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That we played football at school.
David: That I played with Yuki.
Tom: Fart! Fart! Fart! Hahahahaha...

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: I really didn't have one because I am weird.
David: That Tommy swung his arm and bam me in the face.
Tom: The worst part was fart! Hahahahaha...

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to play with Arman.
David: Play games with Yuki.
Tom: Want I play in the kindergarten.

The Wedding Dancer

Okay, who the hell kidnapped my boys and replaced them with these gag-worthy robots? I searched for a ransom note and finally came to the conclusion that something about attending a wedding and having an important role like 'rose petal tosser' might actually instill a sense of behavioral responsibility that speaks to even the wildest of creatures. That, plus a two hour car lecture where Angie and I used threats and scare-tactics to 'encourage' our boys to be on their bestest. I was just surprised that it worked. Unfortunately, my boys don't like to surprise me for long nor do they respond well to threats.

Yes, true colors can be rather disturbing. Angie took a slightly different earpoint and thought another lecture would somehow alter the course of embarrassment we had embarked on. She then proceeded to rather vocally explain how she did not want to hear any peeps when we were in the church. Tommy found what I thought was a rather creative alleviation to Mama's concern.

I give finger-boy points for boldness - his demonstrative suggestion to stick a plug in Mama's ear certainly met Angie's criteria covering the hearing of peeps, but I'm not sure that she agreed with what I would call a clever idea. Angie hardly ever agrees with other humans, though. In the end, I left her on the steps hyperventilating and ventured my way inside.

Inside turned out to be quiet, but not without strange children second-contemplating their role as petal-tosser.

I actually know this look and decided to spend a good portion of the ceremony 'whispering' advice into Davey's ear. I reminded him that he was not allowed to throw the petals overhand at the bride's face, like he did at Handan's wedding. About halfway through the ceremony, I felt confident that I had gotten through to David when he agreed to only throw underhanded.

At least Sabina and Matthias wisely chose the preferred method for dealing with wild animals that go slightly overboard with the rose petals and simply ignored him.

After the ceremony, we moved to the backyard for an outdoor champagne brunch that was bubbly and loud. At one point, the newlyweds apparently got fed up with the guests and tried to fly away.

My guess is that they've seen the movie 'Up' one too many times. That or they think they are lighter than they actually are. I can certainly relate.

After watching Bina's rendition of '99 Red Balloons', I walked over to the buffet to look for Angie. I'm not trying to make a statement with my last sentence. It's just - I know that my wife loves cooked food and I am today's self-proclaimed Sherlock Holmes. As expected, I found my darling chatting away with a bunch of her lady friends next to the pastry puffs. I walked up to say hi, but Angie saw me first and chose to launch a greeting of her own.

'YOUR FLY IS OPEN!!!'

I use capital letters here to emphasize just how LOUDLY my lovely wife announced to the entire wedding entourage that my zipper had dropped. I am a firm believer of correcting bad behavior on the spot, so I immediately explained to Angie how inappropriate it is to point at another man's genitals in the middle of a wedding reception and start screaming commentary, but this (as with our children) only made her crack up.

Speaking of cracking people up, Tommy decided to curl up and rack out next to the gift table shortly after the meal.

After a few snapshots, I turned my attention away from the Wedding Crasher and focused on my other mini-mes. It was an interesting experiment, to be honest. See, they had a dessert bar that had no limit on visits. I stood by and quietly watched as both Peter and David devoured various forms of sugar. I tried to console myself by telling me that at least they had not touched their main course at all.

When that didn't work, I ventured off in search of a TV to watch the final Champions League match between Bayern Munich and Chelsea. As I strolled by the kitchen, I noticed that a few culinary staff members were huddled around what looked to be a boob tube. I pushed opened the swinging doors and asked the chefs if I could join their bleachers.

Their mistake was when they said 'sure, come on in'. I then whistled loudly and brought in half of the male contingent, including the groom. My saving grace was that Angie knows my whistle and is addicted to soccer.

At one point, one of the waitresses got visibly annoyed that the wedding club had hijacked the kitchen. Luckily, I'm married to a woman who gets visibly annoyed with me at least twice daily. I reverted to my trusted tactics and just pretended not to speak German. Unfortunately, she switched to English. At that point, I just flat-out ignored her. Unlike with Angie, this technique actually worked and the pesky woman simply went away.

Chelsea didn't win, but Bayern lost. You figure it out.

After the game, we returned to the party to find that the tables were being pushed away to free up some boogie room. At this point in our little sugar experiment, Peter was crashing big time. He was falling asleep in his chair, mumbling something about me being an awesome dad and going back to the hotel. David, on the other buzz, was wired for sound.

This is honestly the ONLY picture I could snap. The rest were only flashes and blurs as David streaked the dance floor. He busted out his patented 'butt boogie' moves, along with a couple that are apparently still waiting for copyright approval. I have never seen David so in his element. He is not bashful in the least and he proved this again by getting his jiggy on with adults and other silly types crazy enough to get in his way. As far as I know, I've never witnessed anyone finding their calling in life as it actually happened. I guess only time will tell.

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Ladder Talk:
(Adrenalin + Sugar = no ladder talk)
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: ZZZZZzzzzzzz......
David: flippity-bank bo ski-skank o madaka floo-poo!
Tom: ZZZZZzzzzzzz......
2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: ZZZZZzzzzzzz......
David: When the Oh, yeah - HOOOOOO! and then skippity-shonk bang!
Tom: ZZZZZzzzzzzz......

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: ZZZZZzzzzzzz......
David: Yes, please.
Tom: ZZZZZzzzzzzz......

Kitchen Surprise

This only looks like I lost my mind and allowed Angie in the kitchen. For a change, the destruction and mayhem had nothing to do with my life planner. I had actually taken the day off and we were on the balcony enjoying a warm glass of sunshine when the wall and our kitchen shelf got into a fight. The wall won.

I don't know who started it, but I wasn't that concerned with why the wall had bitch-smacked our kitchen supplies to the floor. I was more worried about who was going win the pleasure of cleaning up the mess. As I seriously contemplated cancelling my vacation day and driving into work, Angie popped her head around the corner.

'Simone's here - we'll be on the balcony.'

'Oh, sure - when I undig the coffee machine, I'll bring you a latte.'

'Thanks!'

'I was joking.'

'I wasn't.'

Angie recently had to sift through 30 years of muck to retrieve a tooth that klutzo Peter had dropped into the bathroom sink, so I shouldn't complain. The problem is that I am the king of doing things that I shouldn't. I'm also the duke of not doing things that I should, but I certainly didn't want to think about taxes on my day off. Instead, I rolled up my short sleeves and started to deconstruct our new-found culinary mosaic.

Glass went into the recycle bag, along with a few drops of my blood. This was despite Angie's wise-ass advice to not cut myself, but I think I've already covered my royal reaction to the unsolicited expectations of others. The flour container and the powder chocolate had smashed into each other and landed in a pile of olive oil, so I quickly shoveled this interesting texture into the biodegradable bin. Oddly enough, the three eggs left in the carton survived. If you can even call it that, since I plan to eat them tomorrow morning. Enjoy the reprieve.

After being forced to spring clean the kitchen, I picked up Tommy from kindergarten and took him for his first bike ride. Angie and I bought Tom a new bike a few days ago and he has been bugging the shit out of us (me) to take his knees out for a skinning. Fortunately (depending on your viewpoint) it has been absolute crap weather since then. With the sun shining and the kitchen cleaned, I had no other acceptable excuse.

As expected, he sucked big time, but his utter inability to pedal, steer or keep a steady balance for more than ten microseconds didn't manage to discourage him. Bravo.

I am metro enough to acknowledge that I am not as fit as the spring chicken I think I still am, but holy hell! Pushing a crappy bike driver around for an hour in the sun is hard work. Especially if you take David along on your driving lesson. He alone vibrates energy at a rate and frequency that only dogs hear. Particularly if you combine that with crash-test Tommy, whose lungs were not exactly thrilled with Disco Dave racing laps around him screaming 'I won again'.

At one point, I start to take mental bets on what part of my body would throw in the towel first. My knees and my back were not accustomed to supporting pint-sized wild ones in motion, but it was actually my liver who finally put its non-existent foot down.

'To hell with this, I'm going for a beer'.

I have been accused of having selective hearing at times, but today - my knees and back agreed wholeheartedly with my liver. They even laughed at the sweaty kid with the helmet, who was vocally unthrilled with my organ's premature end to the Tommy 500. Talk to the hand 'cause the liver ain't listening.

I strolled into the kitchen to quench my liver and felt the crunch of broken glass and the slipperiness of an oily floor. At this point, I would like to freely admit that I am complete crap at cleaning. I am, however, good at evaluating situations and making split-second decisions.

'We're gonna grill tonight!'

I escaped to the balcony and was once again confronted by what I now lovingly call 'The Buttmark'.

This mysterious butt-print has been a part of our family for several weeks. I don't know how it got there. I also don't know why it doesn't evaporate even when the sun shines bright all day. Honestly, though, I don't care. After eight years of herding ankle-biters, I don't question life's peculiar signs. No, I photograph them and let my three readers do the wondering. Happy speculating.

While you attempt to figure out the meaning of our cute little butt-print, I'll move on to dessert. Eating in general normally raises a fundamental dispute that Angie and I have had for years. See, Angie lives in the camp that waves the 'don't play with your food' flag. In addition to being hairy enough to choke a cat, I'm an avid food consumer with a penchant for creativity and a playful culinary flair that I use to impress my offspring. It doesn't take much.

Angie was not impressed, but at least the queen has been forewarned and is fully aware of the king's physical and mental handicap when it comes to actually giving a shit. Tommy loved it, by the way.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That I played with Tommy the cars.
David: That I said 'David ah-boom-boom!'
Tom: When I a big boy on my bike and no go boom down.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: That David was not so good to me - he did faces at me and other things.
David: Where Peter - he throw me on the floor when I funny faces making was.
Tom: When I go boom down and then I cry like this 'aaaahhhhh'.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: Sleep by Leo's.
David: I want that Yuki sleeps by me.
Tom: I want to go to my new bike.