Dunk me a river

Road Trip Day 11: What is that smell?

Tom can be such a cute and content baby. Sometimes. What's unusual about this picture is that he's actually awake. I was taking the pictures, so it wasn't my cool ass that he was grinning at. It wasn't Mama, either, since his mouth was clearly not open in 'boob me' mode. Mmmm...what the hell else could be so intriguing for little Tommy?


Aaahh, now it all comes together. Tom obviously stamped, sealed and approved Peter's diabolical plan to choke David and send him down the river. Hey, Davey - you might want to stop sitting on Tommy's head, not to mention whatever the hell it was you did to piss off Peter.

At least the hotel was awesome. Aside from having a completely separate and almost soundproof room for the kids, they were also able to provide Angie with Internet for her Crackbook fix. After a quiet evening of booking faces and ordering beers from the 24 hour bar, we woke up to an exquisite French buffet and a lake full of crocodiles. Peter ate very little, but it provided him with enough energy to show us his new 'dunky' trick. Ah, brotherly hate.

Somehow, David managed to escape Peter's clutches and narrowly escape being thrown into the reptilian bath. Dirty Dave could have certainly used a bath, though, not to mention Stinky Pete, Toe-jam Tom and Mucky Mama. Papa smelled like roses, of course, depending on your smell buds.

At one point, the car's funk-o-meter was pinging so loudly, I had to stop at a French rest stop. When I opened the car door, a wave of Funky Frenchness hit me that made my nose question life. David didn't seem to mind, but then again, I wouldn't expect him to. He was quite content 'driving' as Angie went to 'freshen up'.

In the end, David drove as much as Mama freshened, only Angie managed to come back with a wet cell phone. A wet what?

Let me back track a few minutes prior when Angie was walking to the public toilets at a pit stop on the French highway. As she walked away, my maleness checked her out. The sun reflected on her back pockets, which had cute little gems sewn in them. Man, I wish my ass could sparkle like diamonds!

If you had looked closer, which you shouldn't have since she's MY wife, you would've seen a tiny chain with a charm on it hanging out of one pocket. This was Angie's 'phone jewellery', also known as the 'biggest freakin' waste of money since toe rings', if you would ask me. And I'm so sure you would.

So now I should pause and give you a little background on French public toilets at rest stops, in case you have never had the pleasure. The 'toilet' is basically a hole in the ground that tests your sense of balance and gag reflexes at the same time. Angie is complete shit at balance and I better just stop there. In short, she tipped over and involuntarily tested how crap-proof her cell phone was. Way to go, Vodafone! If you guys wanna steal my idea for a commercial on how your phones can take crap off of anyone, just pay me in Canadian dollars, please.

Angie's brain somehow convinced her that a little hand sanitizer and a sunbath on our dashboard would make all that other shit simply disappear. In the end, it actually worked and Angie made me swear to her that I would keep the whole thing on the 'down low'. I don't know what the hell she was talking about, but as is often the case, I just nodded. It was cool and it's not often that she does something that's not geeky, so we gave Mama a pass. Even Peter had no chance against Mama's cool 'dunky' trick.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we go'ed home.
David: When we come now here to home.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I missed kindergarten.
David: When I cried 'cause I wanted to kindergarten go, but the kindergarten closed is.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go to kindergarten with all the Gormitis.
David: Play with Peter by the kindergarten in the moon group.

I'm too sexy for my tower

Road Trip Day 10: The Eiffel Hike

I was just joking when I told Peter to 'strike a pose'. I didn't actually expect him to bust out his catwalk moves on the streets of Paris. But more on our incredibly fun and exciting trip to the Eiffel Tower later.

Before later, Zoolander was having a little trouble waking up.

Shortly after this initial love-shake, Tom and David gleefully came to the rescue by pouncing on Peter's head. Repeatedly. Tom, David and Papa began laughing hysterically, Peter began crying hysterically, and Mama started screaming hysterical things like 'stop sitting on his face' and 'brain hemorrhaging'. In the end, it was...uh...well,...hysterical! And, Peter woke up.

Kramer still had a crazy case of bed head going on when we jumped on the ferry, so I took Cosmo and the Face-sitter up to the top deck for a blow-dry.

David thought it was hilarious when he threw his Capri Sonne drink overboard. He didn't find it so amusing when I picked him up and told him he was going to go find it. The people walking by witnessing me about to throw my screaming kid overboard were also less than humorous. Yeah, but they didn't see his drink falling by the wayside.

After the whole 'please don't throw that little boy overboard' incident, I realized that maybe I needed a break. By break, I of course mean that I dumped the kids on Mama, who was inside enjoying the sweet sounds of Tommy Q screeching the blues.

After narrowly avoiding an extreme swimming lesson for any of our kids, we landed in France. In addition to stinky cheese, wine and fries, France also has the Eiffel Tower, a must see for anyone without impatient kids and a naggy wife.

As soon as we got out of the docks, Mama Negativa began. 'Do you know that we need to drive two hours out of the way to go to Paris?' Oh, really? Do you know that if I kicked you out of the car right now, that would be....mmm, I don't know - 60 hours of walking out of the way!

My logic and perhaps even my tone can occasionally chafe Angie's derrière, but in the end, who was driving? That's right, moi.

Moi began to get a little nervous when we arrived in Paris to a huge traffic jam. After adding an hour and a half to our already 'two hours out of the way' I began to get slightly annoyed at Angie constantly questioning my tiny little detour to see such a famous and memorable landmark.

'The kids will love it.'

'They'd rather play with their Gormitis.'

'Yeah, but I hate them - didn't you read my last blog?'

'I don't read that crap; I've told you that so many times.'

'It's not my fault you can't read. Now shut up and enjoy Paris - it's romantic.'

We finally made it downtown and parked. Not being one of those guys secure enough in one's self to speak French, I got a little lost trying to exit the underground parking garage. I later realized that we somehow managed to escape via a service exit through a door that should have been sealed. It's not my fault that the French staff are shit when it comes to locking these 'secret' staff doors. It was, apparently, my fault that we ended up in the middle of a parade field. It was also at this point that we began to realize why there was so much traffic.

July 14th is Bastille Day in France, a national holiday that blocks off most of the streets and a few of the parade fields, similar to the one that we somehow surfaced upon. This particular parade field had quite a few helicopters and special forces patrolling the ground to make sure that no crazy family-of-fives popped out of nowhere ready to attack whoever it was they were protecting. Let me just say, the French are quite skilled at protecting their own.

We exited the 'parking garage' into the middle of this heavily armed parade and were immediately surrounded by uniforms who were screaming a bunch of French shit at us. When confronted with screaming foreigners, I tend to scream back, although it is not always coherent. This time around, though, I thought I made perfect sense by screaming 'I love your mustard ' at the French S.W.A.T. team as they closed in on us. Angie smugly informed me later that French's mustard is actually manufactured in Rochester, N.Y. Thanks, oh-great-cranium-of-knowledge. Where the hell were you when the French ninjas were attacking me from the trees?

Somehow we managed to dodge the paratroopers who were seriously looking to put a cap in Angie's derrière. After being 'escorted' off of the parade field, we tried to make our way to the Eiffel Tower for our long-awaited photo-op.

I use the phrase 'tried' in the previous paragraph because the French and their inconsiderate 'national celebration' kept blocking off streets in our way. When we got closer, we realized after getting screamed at by the French National Guard that there was no way in hell that we would get closer than this photograph to the Eiffel Tower.

It's okay. though. You can see it, right? Please say 'yes'. In the end, it took us six and a half hours off course, so if you don't say 'yes', Angie wins and let me just say that her gloat is ugly. Really ugly.

After our extraordinary glimpse of the Tower, we returned to the secret car park.

Luckily, all of the helicopters and 'special' people had flown away, leaving my 'special' son and his odd ability to 'strike a pose'.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we found this hotel.
David: When we need to sleep.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David cried in the car and I need to close my ears.
David: 'Cause I make that with my shoe in the car door and then I cry.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go home.
David: When we going tomorrow home.

Chester's Jesters

Road Trip Day 9: Gormitis suck

Angie insisted that we go to Chester because she had once been there and saw a really cool clock. Ah, okay. After witnessing the Eastgate clock, though, Peter facially expressed what he thought of Mama's choice. Don't get me wrong, it's a really nice clock. But it's a freakin' clock and come on - even Peter can't tell time yet, so I wasn't completely shooting down comments like 'this is boring!' and 'you're stupid!' Okay, the last statement was not from the kids, nor was it said very loudly.

For entertainment, they locked themselves into a huge mail box.

The boys must get this odd little quirk from Angie. When she went to England for university, she spent the first month throwing mail into the round metal bins that were painted black with gold trim that 'looked really pretty'. In her defense, they are rather attractive and probably do look like mailboxes to anyone who is illiterate. Against her defense, she can actually read and probably should have paid closer attention to the 'pretty words' inscribed on the side of their lovely trashcans: LITTER. That's right, LITTER, not LETTER. At least she eventually figured out why none of her friends were answering her trash.

It took twenty minutes to convince Peter know-it-all that it was a telephone booth, not a mail box. The first ten minutes were wasted on pointing at the letters at the top of the booth and screaming 'what's a matter with you - can't you read?' I guess not. Mmm...can't tell time...can't read...what the hell is this boy learning at school?

Ah, I see. Gormitis, also known as 'The Invincible Lords of Nature'. That's just great. Should we really be encouraging Destructo Dave to unleash his fury under Mother Nature's name? It didn't matter; the shops in Chester carried these rubber hellions that the boys had heard so much about in school and we (Angie) made the mistake of buying them. At first, it smelled like a really good idea, but before we could leave the store, the boys were already fighting over them. WARNING: really, really dumb ideas actually smell good at first whiff.

Two minutes into our five hour drive today, the boys started screaming at each other. Crying, spitting, blubbering, and an all-out freak-a-thon followed. In a move that would have totally impressed my father, I stretched one arm back while driving full-gas on the motorway, snatched the Gormitis out of their tear-soaked hands and came damn close to throwing them out the window. Instead, I locked the evil toys up in the glove box and vocally explained a few things to the tearful that pushed the veins in my neck to the breaking point.

After what Angie described as a 'full-on conniption freak-out fit', I was relatively calm. I don't know if the boys were calm, but they did not speak a word for the remaining four and a half hours. Aaaahh, the sweet sound of silence. And fear.

Five hours in the car without talking, moving, or any other gerunds that might draw attention to themselves was great for the driver's mind of peace, but the aftermath of bottling up such pure kinder-energy proved to be...well, see for yourselves.

The boys started racing around the parking lot of the hotel. Their collective energy continued to build up until I was really worried about retaliation for the whole 'freakin' out' thing in the car earlier. At least Tom found the whole thing hilarious.

We managed to check into the hotel without any embarrassing stories involving me getting my ass kicked by my children, although I am quite certain that those will come sooner than I expect. It's okay - I normally swap Angie's name for mine if it's anything embarrassing and how funny would that be? Mama gets her ass beat by the PeDaTo Gang...

As we sat down in the hotel restaurant, I began to notice a certain theme to the place. There were pictures of airplanes hanging on the walls and replicas of old fighter jets lined the shelves. Before I could put my finger on it, David had disappeared. I ran to the next room, also known as The Bar, and found Tom Cruise, Jr. slinging cocktails with the barkeep.

I rescued David from what would have certainly ended up as a 'disorderly in public' charge and brought him back to his seat. Shortly after, the bartender came over to take our order.

'Beer. Lots of it. And throw in some chicken wings for the kids.'

'Uh, sir, we don't serve American food here.'

It was at that point that I remembered we were in England. Wrotham, to be specific.

'Okay, fine. Blood sausage and chips, then, mate.'

'Perhaps the gentleman would like to look at our menu?'

I looked around for who the hell this guy was talking about, and it was at that point that I noticed the white table cloths and very impressive set of cutlery at each setting. I reluctantly took the menu and suddenly I had a really upset wallet.

After ordering a paycheck or two, I asked the waiter about the whole 'fighter aircraft' motif they had going on.

'During WW II, this was a well-known pub for British fighter pilots. Whenever a pilot shot down a German plane, they would come here to celebrate. They would stamp the ceiling as a symbol of victory.'

I looked up to a ceiling that had more rubber stamps than congress. Before I could respond, Angie jumped in.

'My Dad was a pilot.'

'Oh, really. For which country?'

'Germany.'

[Awkward pause]

'Uh...I'm Italian.'

With that, Mario disappeared before Angie could explain that her dad was actually a commercial pilot for Lufthansa until retiring last year. Judging by Angie's smirk, though, I seriously doubt that she would have ever offered this tidbit of information.

Seconds later, Luigi returned with two complimentary beers and mumbled something that sounded like 'prego, pasta ravioli i lasagne' to me, but he disappeared again before I could fully interpret. Angie continued to 'scowl' at the poor guy until he rounded the corner. Then, she smirked again, winked at me, and shouted 'PROST' in a voice that was slightly louder than one might expect in such a tiny pub.

Dinner was great, but I love any meal where we get free drinks. The boys loved it because we took their Gormitis out of time-out for dessert. Once again, though, these rubbery bastards drove a wedge between the brothers and before Mother Nature knew it, David was the one in time-out.

At least David was not 'in the cooler' for very long. As punishment, the boys got a lecture from Papa Coolest instead.

'Look, guys - you cannot keep fighting over these toys like this. If you keep it up, I'm just going to throw the damn things into the trash.'

'You mean the mailbox?'

'No! Why? What do you mean? Did Mama already give you this lecture?'
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: The best part was when I play with Tom peeky-boo.
David: When I with Mommy play that I the baby Tapir and Peter the baby Jaguar is.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't have dessert by the pub.
David: When I wanted Tom to McQueen hello say, but that we go to the toilet.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go on the ship.
David: When we go to Madagascar.