Why Do Cows Walk

"Dad, why do cows walk?" Little Hoss asked me.

Indeed, why do cows walk?

My daughter has been asking more questions than usual of late. I think that they have also become more evolved questions as well, things that perhaps only a prodigy type child would ask. They go beyond the normal dad questions and seem to have entered into the world of philosophy. Does a thing exist only because I think it exists or what is the sound of one hand clapping.

And now, in a trip to the grocery store to load up on pop tarts, why do cows walk?

I realize that in this stage in my daughter's life that I am her primary teacher. Just about everything she has learned comes from me or Ms. Herless. Ms. Herless is her imaginary teacher that she says teaches her things like Ballet moves which seem to resemble grape crushing in the making of fine wine. I'm not really sure where Ms. Herless has come from and when I ask my little Mozart about her, she only says that she is her teacher and she likes to teach her things.

So I ask: Ms. Herless, why do cows walk?

I looked over at the cows in the pasture as we passed by them. They are the same cows that have been there for 3 years, or at least I think they are. They roam a big pasture, eating grass, crapping and basically doing what cows do. I imagine a lot of cud chewing. I have never thought much about them but my kids seem to love them. Perhaps because Uncle Bricksalesman taught them to play "Hey Cow." A fun little game where you yell "HEY COW!" out the window as loud as you can. If a cow looks, you win. That's it. That's the whole game.

It's oddly fun.

But now I am being forced by my Beethoven to think more about these cows as I try to formulate an answer that will surely one day appear on her thesis when she graduates from Yale.

I could explain that the cows walk due to the evolution of the species. That once the cows began as a big old goo pile and that eventually nature selected the more cow like goo pile parts and eventually made a cow. And that's why cows walk honey, natural selection.

But I have a feeling that my daughter was searching for a more metaphysical answer than the biological one. She's a thinker which is what I think motivates her to destroy shit. I don't know how it motivates her but I have got to believe that there is a reason she has dumped my cell phones in the toilet.

Perhaps the cows are walking because they are searching for the meaning of their existence. Are they meant to roam a pasture to one day become only delicious steaks. But are delicious steaks not something noble to aspire to, only second the greatness that is the pig and bacon?

Or perhaps they walk to escape the thoughts that they will never be more than cows. That their nightmare is the life that they have been put into. Seriously, it's got to be pretty damn boring to be a cow.

Although both sounded plausible, I knew they would not give my daughter the intellectual challenge that she was seeking. So I offered her another explanation.

"Honey, the cows are walking because they are having an inner conflict between extensionality and intensionality. Do they judge objects to be equal if they have the same external properties or are they concerned with whether two descriptions are intended to be the same or not. They ponder these things and they walk as it symbolizes the movement towards truth and truth is what we all seek, cows and people. And that honey, is why cows walk."

"No dad! The cows walk because they did a stinky poot!" She roars with laughter.

Ah, my little Einstein.


Just Go To Bed

Go to bed. Go and put her in bed. She is tired and cranky and frankly, I can't take much more today. It's starting to bother me. Normally, I can take a lot. I can be told no. I can be kicked in the shins. And I can even get food splattered on me. And I can do all that with a smile on my face and patience in my voice. However, every man needs a break. He needs time to unwind and come down from his day. He just needs some peace and quiet and that peace and quiet should be delivered to him with a football game and some chips.

So go to bed I say again! It's 7:30 at night and it's time for her to go to bed. I know you don't want to put her to bed. I know it's going to be a hassle. But good old dad just doesn't have the strength to go upstairs and deal with it tonight. My Cowboys game is on tonight and I have given up to many of them this year.

I know that she doesn't want to go to bed and she is fighting you. But she also knows that she is tired. She has been up since 6:30 this morning and missed her nap. I know that she never takes a nap anymore but she should when she's this active. She was running around the house all day today. Going from room to room doing whatever it is that she does up there. Honestly, I just try to stay out of her way. Just take her hand and say it's bed time. Then just lead her upstairs, she'll follow you, trust me.

Make sure you tuck her in and get her a drink of water because if you don't she'll come back down here and bug me. In fact, just go ahead and crawl in bed with her until she falls asleep. She'll stay up there as long as you are with her. Read her books or scratch her back, that usually puts her right down for me.

I know, she might try to get out of bed to come "tell me something." She does this often and she's just fighting bedtime. I'll go up with you in a minute and give her a night night kiss. Then I tell you what, just for me and you, I'll go to the store and get us some special treat and then we can sit down and watch football. Sound good?

Good? Ok then. Go ahead and put Hossmom in mommy and daddy's bed and when she's asleep come on back down and we can watch football. I know honey, I love you to. Tell Mommy that if she is a good girl and goes to bed then tomorrow we can do something special all for her.


Santa's Cookies

"Daddy! We made cookies for Santa!"

Oh yeah? What kind of cookies did you and your mom make?

"Chocolate Chip cookies!"

Hmm, chocolate chip cookies?


Maybe you should go tell your mom that Santa likes peanut butter cookies.

"Dad! Santa doesn't like peanut butter and jelly cookies! He likes chocolate chip cookies!"

Are you sure?

"Yes dad, they are his favorite!"

Um, I don't think so honey. I think Santa really wants peanut butter cookies.

"No dad! Those aren't his favorite!"

I'm pretty sure they are.

"Dad, you don't know Santa! He loves chocolate chip cookies!"

Oh I know Santa. Me and Santa are on a first name basis. And I'm pretty sure that Santa would love some peanut butter cookies, no jelly though. And he would like some milk, but don't put that out until you are about to go to bed. Because Santa also told me that he doesn't like luke warm milk. He thinks it's kind of gross.

"No dad! You need to listen. You're not listening! Santa likes chocolate chip cookies!"

Santa also likes Die Hard on Christmas Eve too. If you could find that on Netflix, that would be really great because Santa has a long night ahead of him filled with a lot of little screws and dead batteries. So some Die Hard and peanut butter cookies would really help Santa out.

"You go away dad, you're not helping."

Ok, but if you get a chance, Santa would also like some batteries. Triple A.


The Fit

The boy is in trouble, big trouble The boy is in epic trouble. He's in the kind of trouble that Homer will come back from the grave and create a new Odyssey out of. It will make Odysseus look like a pussy.

He is in the kind of trouble that my kids will talk about when they are 30 and married.

"Wow Bubba Hoss, remember when you got into trouble when you didn't want to get your haircut? Man, when did he let you move out of the basement?"

"Last week when I moved out of the house."

It was that kind of trouble. It was so simple to, that I don't know really why this happened. The boy was supposed to get his haircut. He didn't want a haircut. I explained that he couldn't be a hippy and that a haircut was the only cure. I explained that next he would stop bathing and talking about living off the grid. I informed him that this would not be acceptable in my house.

He said no.

I said yes.

Let the good times roll.

He started with the simple pout followed by a scream. He knows that this does not work with me. I am dad, my word is law. I'm not big on "convincing" my kids on doing what is asked of them. It's not how I parent. Probably because the one time that I defied my own father I received a belt across the legs. That was the last time I really questioned my father. I don't spank but I still don't take no very well from my children. So I picked up my son and put him in the barber's chair.

He decided to match my will with his own. He began to scream and by the time I put him on the chair, he started to kick. I have no idea why as he has gotten many haircuts before. I can only guess that somewhere in the past I have shown weakness and he is now attempting to dethrone me as Dad. Give a kid a donut before bedtime just once and now you are screwed. Constant vigilance is the only answer.

The screaming got louder and the kicking got more violent. It was crowded and I had to decide what to do. People were starting to look at me, obviously judging me. "I bet he does crack" I heard one whisper. "Oh yes, he's a crackhead. No doubt about it. Who else but a crackhead allows their child to act such a way. I bet he has weird fetishes to" her friend concurred.

Hossmom came over to help. Nothing pisses me off more. When I'm worked up I don't like Hossmom coming over to "calm" the situation, it makes me more mad. This isn't about calming anything! This is about family dominance! It's about my authority! One missed haircut now and when he's 16 he is going to be riding around on a motorcycle going to see his pregnant girlfriend in the trailer park. If he's lucky, he might get into Devry. Oh yes, there are bigger things here than a haircut.

"Hoss" hossmom said "let me....." I never let her finish the sentence. I probably should have but I was in the zone here. Hossmom is all about hugs and love. We are beyond hugs baby, way beyond hugs at the moment.

I put Bubba Hoss on the ground and grabbed his hand. "We're going to the car" I told Hossmom very calmly. Then we left the barber's shop.

"Crackhead" I could hear them all whisper.

I had Bubba Hoss by the hand and we were walking fast. The kind of fast walking where his feet are barely touching the ground. We had parked on the other side of the lot so the walk was a little way. He had taken the screaming up a notch and was trying to pull away from me. Which made things worse because now I was mad that he wasn't holding hands in the parking lot which is a big no no.

I was way beyond my emotional parenting level. I am not supposed to parent in this zone. I have taken classes at the dad convention that talk about this. Don't let your children push you past your normal zone, that's the advice. I was not heeding it now.

I was lecturing him the whole way. I'm not even sure what I was saying, I might have been talking in tongues. If someone had come by us I'm sure this looks like a kidnapping and an Amber Alert would be on the news shortly. He was screaming and kicking, I was dragging him along.

We got to the car and I put him in the carseat. I was still giving my 3 year old boy the lecture. I actually said "You will do what you are told boy!" I have no idea where that came from. The hick in my just came out. Next I'll be telling him about how to clean a chicken carcase and the greatness that is Grits. I don't know where I was going with this and I have no idea why I was even talking. He was screaming so loud that nothing was getting through.

I got into the front seat and continued. I mentioned things such as acting appropriately, about how he need to listen to his Dad, about how freedom and the American way is directly tied into doing what Dad tells him to do. I was on a roll here. I'm sure that if I could write what I said, I could use it as a motivational speech in corporations.

I stopped my lecture and took a breath. He was no longer screaming. I turned around to give him Act II of "Dad Losses it".

The boy was asleep. Fast asleep. I had put him to sleep with my lecture. Fantastic.

Game over. He wins.

Nothing I can do about it. He fell asleep and will not really remember this episode when he wakes up. I can't very well wake him up just to continue this lecture and the plethora of punishments I have in store for him. I was going to put him in his room, take away toys and tell him the truth about Santa Claus. Can't do that now.

Do that now and I just look like a dick. He won't get it, he will make no coloration between the punishments and the actions he took to get there. If I do anything now I am just being mean and that is not a good example to set for my boy.

I started to laugh because I recalled what I had said in the lecture. Something about the American Dream and the fall of communism and how he had to make a decision about which side he was on. I'm not really sure.

But I know that everything was pointless and the true reason he lost it was because he was tired. I over reacted and I knew it. And now he put me in my place, showing how irrelevant I can become.

However, the boy still needs a haircut. And I do have my clippers at home, maybe give him the old fashioned buzz cut that I still sport. Hossmom would be pretty upset. In fact, I'm betting that she would start yelling at me as soon as she saw it. Perhaps at that point I can give her a lecture and send her off to bed?


What Dad Wants For Christmas

The holidays are upon us and it's time to do our gift exchange. Many of you are probably wondering what to get dad this year. Let's face it, he can be a little tough to shop for. Not because you don't know what he wants so much, but because you have no idea what an impact wrench is nor where to get it.

But maybe this year the budget is a little tight. Perhaps your spouse got laid off because a souless fast food company decided to be idiots and fuck things up. If that's the case, then let me offer you a few great gift ideas for dad this year that will be much appreciated and won't break the bank. Because the thing dad wants more than anything is a sound finicial future where he's not living on the street begging for a loan from the local crack whore.

1. Go get Dad's tire's rotated. This service is usually free or very cheap but also a massive pain in the ass. So take it upon yourself to borrow dad's car for some illegal street racing and on your way home, if you haven't lost the pink slip, stop in for 30 minutes and gets those suckers rotated. He'll love you for it.

2. If your a toddler, you may find it difficult to drive at the current moment so the tire rotation probably isn't going to work for you. But you have something better to offer. Make dad a cutsey little card. Color it, maybe draw a little flower thing on the cover because everyone loves flowers. Put your name on it so he know's it's from you. Then write this on the inside: "I promise to take my shoes off every time I kick you in the balls." Christmas morning, when he opens your present, I bet 100 bucks he breaks down crying.

3. Dora the Explorer bandaids.

4. Duct Tape. He always needs duct tape.

5. A block of cheese.

6. A tape measure. Then take the tape measure and measure the size of Daddy's biceps. Regardless of the number, say that it's huge. So huge in fact that you've never seen a number this big and demand to measure again because surely you must have messed up the first time. Then when you find out that it was correct, go around telling everyone how big and strong your dad is. Trust me, no matter what size your dad is, he will love this.

7. Postage stamps.

8. The last piece of Christmas ham, with no guilt.

9. A song and dance number. Every Dad thinks that his kids are pretty much the greatest and doing a song and dance number is about the cutest thing you could do. May I suggest that you do "My Little Buttercup" from the movie "Three Amigos."

10. Learn to repair a hole in the wall then actually show dad how good you can do it by actually fixing the hole in the wall that you may have put there.

11. The shake weight. Because it is funny.

12. A tub of Blue Star Ointment because you can never have enough of that stuff around.

13. A section of wall that you HAVE NOT colored on yet.

14. Bacon. Lots and lots of bacon. Bacon wrapped in bacon.

15. A newspaper that hasn't been read yet, or colored on, or cut up with child scissors.

16. Alf, season 1.

17. A peice of paper that states: "I vow to not get anything peirced until I move out of your house and am totally self sufficient. I also agree to never bring up things like this that you did when you were my age. I will completly ignore the hypocrasy." Sign and date said peice of paper.

18. Homemade peanut butter cookies all for him.

19. New shoelaces for the shoes that he refuses to throw away.

20. Turn on a football game (it doesn't matter which one), get him a beer, chips and salsa. Then sit and watch the game with him quietly. The entire game or until he falls asleep which should be around the second quarter.

See, buying economical gifts for Dad is easy and well worth the minimal effort you have to put into it. He'll love any of these gifts for years and years to come.

But if you do find yourself with some extra money, he might also like Call of Duty: Black Ops, currently available at anywhere you find games. I'm just saying.


The Cave

I should have been concerned when our tour of the cave started but the guide assured us that it would be safe enough for me and the children to go.

Of course, this guy only had one arm. I'm guessing that he lost it in some freak caving accident like the movie "127 Hours". We should have turned back. But we didn't because the kids and I like to adventure and dammit, we were going on an adventure.

So down into the cave we went, with our one armed tour guide.

The first thing he noted was what appeared to be a GIANT FREAKING CRACK in the ceiling. But he let us know that it had been there for ages and the cave was perfectly safe. This was right about the time they were digging the miners out in Chile. I made a mental note to eat our tour guide first should we be trapped in a cave in.

As a father, you are always watching out for danger. You are constantly on the prowl for things that might do harm to your offspring. Broken glass=bad. Nerf football=good. White Pedophile van giving away puppies and candy=bad. Hot mom giving away puppies and candy=good.

We descened further into the cave. To go down, we walked on little stairs carved into the cave. Each stair was wet from condensation and what I can only guess to be blood from virgin sacrifices. Probably done by the one-armed tour guide that was not concerned with the giant crack looming over our heads. But we went on.

There was a hand rail which helped. That was thier "safety" precaution. "Be sure to hang on to the handrail!" the tour guide told us. But the handrail was about three feet high. What was to prevent my prodigy from slipping on the satanic entrails on the floor and swooshing right under the handrail? Is there a net down there that I'm not seeing? As a result, I spent most of my time grabbing the kids raincoat hoods to make sure they didn't plummet to thier doom. This had the unfortunate side effect of choking them instead. But I very calmly explained that a few minutes without oxygen was preferable to the pits of hell that waited below.

When not panicking about losing my kids to a cave in or on the slip-and-slide of death, the cave was actually pretty cool. There were stalagmites, stalagtites and stalagpetrifiedfathers. All very interesting. There were some really cool formations.

Until the tour guides flashlight started to flicker. "Man" he said. "I just changed the batteries in this thing". Sure you did. Butthole. I think this guy feeds off a father's fear. I'm pretty sure I heard him smack his lips and whisper "more, um, more."

Eventually we reached the bottom of the cave and I released the kung fu grip I had on my children. We all stood now looking up at the natural wonder of Mother Nature and thinking about how she would love to kill us in this god forsaken pit.

Then the tour guide turned off the lights. What was supposed to follow, I think, was for each and every one of us to be awed by the total true blackness that we found ourselves. Then small little lights came on and off showing the different formations. And for adults, I think this is a good part of the whole show as you bask in the tranquility of the surroundings.

But when you have two small kids with you, the word tranquil does not apply to people who still believe in monsters.

My kids started to scream. I went down to one knee and hugged them and reassured them that everything was ok. Well, I think they were my kids but I can't be sure. It was dark as shit. I could have been hugging Bubba Hoss and Golem for all I knew. The tour guide chuckled a little and pointed out things that the kids might like. I reassured them that the things that he was pointing out were not demons from hell although given who our tour guide was, I could have been wrong.

Eventually everyone calmed down and we started heading back up. I didn't think it would be as dangerous and for an adult, it isn't. But when you stand 2 feet high it apparently is, as shown by the numeroius concussions that my son recieved from walking up the stairs. Each stair brought his head directly into contact with the cave wall and the screams that he let lose after each one seemed to calm our tour guide greatly.

We made it to the top and out of the cave. I thanked baby Oprah for our survival and agian wondered why I have to be such a cool dad. The kids wanted to go again. But I held my ground and said no, we had cheated death once today and it's not a good idea to antagonize the dark hooded one. But I did ask the tour guide if there was anything else to see.

That's when he pointed at the gift shop and all it's expensive and breakable crap. My kids took off running.

You evil bastard.


Chopping Wood

The handle of the ax chaffed some what each time I swung it over my head for another devastating blow. The muscles in my forearms had long ago passed by the "burn" phase and now were just rubbery. My shoulders ached but each time I brought that ax down, clarity came a little bit closer to a cluttered mind.

I was chopping firewood at Papa Scrum's house. I found it tiring, yet peaceful. I also thought Hossmom might think this was hot. Isn't this what women dream about? Muscles rippiling, grunting, conquering nature. She didn't, she just wanted me to take a shower.

But I found the experience relaxing, a cathartic rhythm providing me a mantra to figure some stuff out. To ask some tough questions and look deep inside to find the insight that manly exercise can bring. Afterward, I'm going to eat some steak and eggs and then plot how to defeat communism while enjoying a montage of me thinking.

The questions came and I was slowly getting answers. What should I do about Hossmom losing her job? Is it better to do the Running Man or the Tornado as a touchdown dance?

And why does my daughter destroy everything that she touches? Why is she so destructive.

This is the one question that I could find no answer for. The answer would not come no matter how many times I brought the ax down. I thought that each time I split a log, the reason would be shining in the middle, a lost knot of insight. But it was not. Only the question remained.

I've turned this around in my mind many times. She just destroys things. It's not intentional, it's just who she is. She doesn't start her day by thinking "I wonder if I can smash dad's bowls." It's not that direct. Instead, she thinks "Wow, that is a cool bowl, I wonder how long I can sit in it." And then before you know it, smash, the bowl is in pieces.

When she drilled a hole in my cellphone it was not to cause any harm to me, it was to see what was inside the cellphone. And she's seen me drill stuff before so obviously her logic was to follow my example. That's why the screen is cracked on my cellphone.

But the question, how did she get this way. Have I inadvertently taught her this behavior or is it more likely that she is super genius that wants to know how things work.

I put aside the ax and grabbed another piece of wood. It was a larger piece. The more I thought about my daughters behavior, the harder I hit the wood. I would miss half the time and send splinters up as little pieces of shrapnel.

She doesn't hit people. She's not mean by nature. She believes in hugs and kisses and princesses. By all accounts, she is a very normal little girl. But she is also a little girl that ties her Barbies by the neck and leaves them swinging from doorknobs. She says that they look pretty and are playing.

She is a little girl that fears almost nothing except the occasional bug. She will jump from the highest point possible without thinking twice about it. In fact, this is how she has dislocated her elbow. Twice. And even with bugs now, I've taught her how to smash them so at least I'm channeling that fear into revenge which is essential in any minion training.

She's destructive. I know this. She's got about as much grace as a drunk Rhino walking home from a stag party. Something's getting dented. Like my car. Back bumper, about a foot to the right of center. That's where she did a header into the car with her bike.

Where does she get this from? How has she learned how to do this. I say to her "Honey, why do you have to wreck so many things?" She says "Daddy, accidents happen." And it's true, I can't fault her reasoning. Around my daughter, accidents happen.

I swing again at the big log. This time I at least hit it but it still refuses to split. I push on, I'm going to split this son of a bitch.

She gave her brother a hug so hard that he started crying. It wasn't on purpose, she just really loves her brother like George loves his rabbits. She tackled one of her friends today trying to tell him goodbye but he wouldn't stay still. So she made him stay still. She likes to stand on my feet with her hard shoes on. I'm pretty sure she has broken my toe.

I don't know if I'll ever get the answer to this question, no matter how much wood I chop. I decide that I have enough and bring back Papa Scrum's ax. I consider talking about it with him, as he is one of my closest friends and I'm sure he would understand. However, there are some roads a man has to walk alone and I think that this is one of them. I don't know why she is so destructive, I only know that for some reason she is. I may never understand why.

I load up the wood and hand the ax back to Papa Scrum. I let him know that I'll probably have to buy him a new one because I seem to have broken the handle. Accidents happen.


DaddysHome Blog

Yup, another blog today. I am right on schedule so let's hope that I've made writer's block my bitch. And if I do my math right ( I add better than I spell) I have new blogs all the way through next week.

I have a blog up at Daddyshome. Check it out, leave a comment, send me praise.


Why The Lamp Is On The Floor

The lamp on my bedside table was on the floor. Actually everything on my nightstand was on the floor in a big lump of destruction.

"What the hell happened to the lamp?!" Hossmom said.

"Oh, you want to know what happened" I asked her.

You want to know what happened to the god damn lamp and all my books, tissues and random bits of my life that I deposit there every night like I'm dumping out my troubles into a bottomless pit that sucks up all the agonizing despair of getting kicked in the balls on a daily basis.

You want to know what happened to the lamp? I'll tell you what happened to the lamp.

5 years ago my wife and I decided that money and free time was overrated. Who needs free time, reading is for saps. And travel had become way to easy and convenient. We needed a challenge. We needed that something that would cause us to be constantly late for any and every event. A late entrance is a fashionable entrance I say! Arrive with flare!

So we had our first child and she was cute. She had more cute wrapped up in her little bald head than a kitten cuddling with a puppy. Sure, it was rough at first but I had always believed that sleep is more of an option than a necessity so we powered through it. After a while, just one kid wasn't enough. So somehow we talked ourselves into another one.

Whamo, first shot too, Hossmom was pregnant and she is always so sweet and gentle when she's pregnant. She's not hard to get along with at all and I never got yelled at because I couldn't find Key Lime pie at 2:00am on a Tuesday. Nope, never happened.

Eventually, kid number two came and all was good with our cute little children. Life was good. Food was good. I never got hit in the balls.

But pretty soon we discovered something very important. Kids grow up. They aren't always little immobile lumps that sleep through the night. Eventually, they learn to walk. And after they learn to walk, they learn to break shit. And after they learn to break shit, they learn to not break their own shit, but my shit.

That cutesy sleeping through the night phase where they aren't walking. That only lasts a couple of months. They should put that on the warranty or something.

It's like having a baby tiger cub. Aww, they are so cute. Look how cute they are and ohh, are they sleeping together now, aww, let's keep them. But then the baby tiger cub grows up to a big mobile tiger cub and mobile tiger cubs like to put daddy's xbox controller in the dishwasher and then turn it on.

You know what else they like to do? They like throw daddy's phone in the toilet. Twice. They like to take daddy's drill and "fix" things as well. Finally, they like to hide from you to the point where you are freaking out so bad that you are about to call the police only to jump from behind the curtains and scream "Surprise! You're an idiot!"

So we had two kids and they got mobile. Then we decided to move because that was great idea. So we did. And we lived in a shack until we found a house. Then I moved us ourselves and the kids thought it was so cool that daddy is so big and strong and can move us to this nice, new pretty house. Besides, daddy's back will heal in time.

Because a new house has new carpets and new carpets need to be colored on. And the walls. And the cabinets. And the hardwood floor. And the toilet because my kids have something going on with the toilet. I'm just not sure what thier love/hate relationship with the toilet is.

But atleast as they grow up, they do sleep through the night. Until they decide not to anymore and the only place they want to sleep at is with you. And for Christ's sake dad, you take up to much space, scoot over! And I don't want covers, it's to hot. And daddy I wet the bed.

That's just one kid. Then the other kid decides to move in the bed as well because if big sister is doing then he's got to do it. Soon you have a whole Tet Offensive going on with the bed and you are on the losing side.

Eventually, you end up sleeping with no covers on a corner of the bed that even that cute little kitten wouldn't fit on and your a grown man wondering why you have to put your pillow half on your own night stand just to get some sleep.

And sooner or later, that plan backfires when one of the kids has a spastic leg thing going on, kicks you in the balls at 3:00am. You freak out because some little foot of fury is attacking your genitals and you flail blindly to protect yourself. And then your lamp gets hit and all your stuff goes flying off your nightstand.

That is how the god damn lamp got knocked off the god damned night stand.

This is the speech that I gave Hossmom. Spittle was practically flying out of my mouth.

At that exact moment, a giant fake plastic lizard came from over the bed to hit me square in the face. I wasn't even looking and it caught me right in the upper cheek bone area.

Hossmom still can't stop laughing.

"Where did that come from?" She asks.

Oh, you want to know where Godzilla the giant lizard came from and how it ended up hitting me in the face during my speech?

5 years ago Hossmom and I decided that.....................