I Like To Call It "Boo" Weeks...

This blog will be short.

Once again the Kalenator is gone for a whole two weeks.

I am not happy.

That is all - J

I Was a Freaking Powder Keg.

Secrets are not my strong point.

Sure, if a good friend tells my something important that they need not to be known… I can make that happen. But if I have some big news about my self, good or bad, I have a hard time zipping my lips.

Kalen is not much better. The best way to get news to relatives or fiends that are close to us is to tell her. Usually it takes all of five minutes of less for her to blurt it out. Say something like, “Kalen sweetie, now Carter is coming over and he is a really big goober. But we don’t like him to know. He’s a big sensitive goober.” Sure enough, about six steps in the door and Kalen would ask him, “Carter… what’s a sens..oh..trib goober? Mommy and Daddy J say you are the most biggest.” You can’t even hint to her what someone might be getting for Christmas or a birthday.

Now knowing this about me and the Kalenator, you should be proud that such a manageable number of you know what I’m about to say… I am going to be a daddy… one of my own biological making.

Yep. that means I had to “do it”… giggle... also note that keeping this inside for so long has caused tremendous gas pains.

And I am so very happy to finally announce it to the world.

So without any more ado than I’ve already used in the sophomoric “doing it” and gas jokes, here is a little introduction.

Baby Bo, here is the world.

World, Baby Bo…



If anyone needs me, I shall be on the rooftops shouting - J

A Shade Away From Having Little To No Value

Kalen can dress herself.

In fact she is almost self sufficient.

This dawned on me during the course of my work day. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me.

She has mastered the art of micro popping corn. One more test and she’ll carry an expert level belt in cheesy roll up making. Watching the sociopathic manner in which she stabs her Capri Sun is almost chilling. If her four year old muscle development allowed for a more controlled lift of one gallon of milk… she’d have the preparation of a snack, lunch, and breakfast in her skill set. Were she to learn the existence and subsequently find a way to afford public transit, she’d have a way to and from the grocery store.

The fact is her mother and I are dangerously close to being a veritable non-necessity.

Of course she can’t read fully. And she lacks any smidge of an yearning to clean anything. Aside from having sticky hands after eating something covered in syrup, she’d almost not clean herself. Plus I don’t think she’d have a very good work ethic, therefore her financing the public transportation and grocery shopping would last all of a half day. But the fact is… she CAN dress herself.

This is still the central point to this blog and the proverbial “alley” to my comedic “oop”.

You see… as I mentioned before… this occurred to me while at work. It was hard not think about how well my four year old daughter can put on her clothes while half way through my day I was in process of turning my boxers around the right way.

You don’t know frustration until you have a painfully pressing urge to urinate and in haste you find your “pee” hatch is on the laying in wait on the wrong side of the world in an area it is completely unqualified for.

I’m just lucky that I got out of there with not so much as a piddle mark - J

I Clicked My Heels Together Three Times and All That Happened Was Ridicule Over My Bad Dancing.

I like new shoes.

Well to be exact I like most every new article of clothing. Socks, plain white t-shirts, boxers, etc. I like the feeling of "newness" when I put ‘em on.

But most of all, I like new shoes.

When I was young I loved getting new cleats. They gave me a feeling that these were the missing element to my making the big club one day. The same with hoop’s sneakers… I was sure that I was soon to start bringing the thunder in a tomahawk like ‘Nique... me the next "human highlight reel."

Just last week, on Black Friday, I got new shoes… new boots to be exact. Work boots if need for being more exact.

I watch Kalen get new shoes and new cute boots, and she loves it. She parades around in them, shows her new stylish kicks off to every familiar face she comes across. No doubt she thinks herself on the verge of some fashionista. I’m sure that’s the little girl equivalent to visualizing becoming a pro athlete.

But now I’m in my thirties. And one would think all that foolish head in clouds stuff would be done.

Not so.

In fact, with my new work boots when I walk, I think I’m taller. And I probably am compared to small sole's of my sneakers. But that isn’t it. I feel taller, stronger, and have much more of a manly presence. They are steel toed after all.

After a winter helping out in the warehouse I am sure that will pass and they will revert to feeling like the worn down souls of any shoes made for slaving away. But for now, I feel like a champ.

It also makes me feel good to know that at thirty-two I can still be affected by trivial things like new clothes. It gives me hope that Kalen may never have to grow up completely. She can have that Sex and the City feeling well into her thirties… or forties if one bought in Sarah Jessica Parker’s TV and silver screen body of work.

So I will enjoy my break in time with the new steel toed work boots. I will smile every time the Kalenator puts on her new brown fashion heavy boots. And we’ll go around pointing them out to anyone that will listen. Because we can and it makes us smile.

And don’t get me started on my new super warm work coat.

It’s like a suit of armor - J