"Faster than a falling cup of milk, stronger than the stench of a 3-day-old diaper, able to leap tall building blocks in a single bound...his tie is stained, his shorts are plaid...it's SUPER-DAD."
Potty training. Few things make me shudder like seeing my wife leave for work on a Saturday while our 2-year-old daughter sits in the family room watching TV with absolutely no pants on whatsoever.
I try to influence her telepathically..."No accidents, no accidents, no accidents."
She approaches our leather sofa.
"No, no, honey, I saved this special spot on the floor JUST for you," I say.
It seems to be working.
The other day as we sat eating brunch at a local Dunkin' Donuts, our 2-year-old announced that she had to "go potty."
My wife got up and took her.
About 5 minutes later, our daughter came flying across the crowded shop shouting proudly at the top of her lungs, "DADDY, DADDY, I WENT PEE PEE IN THE POTTY!!!"
She then received a rousing ovation from every single patron in the restaurant as SuperMom and I exchanged embarrassed glances.
First things first. I know it's been a long time. When I last posted, I thought I would have a little more time on my hands.
That was because I had no job. I was in mortgage until last November. Yes, mortgage. It's OK, I've heard 'em all before, go ahead.
Luckily, I was one of the GOOD guys. You know, the kind that only gave mortgages to those individuals whom the bank felt could actually REPAY them one day.
2008 was a harsh year in the mortgage biz. My pipeline dried up a bit, but not from a lack of effort. You simply couldn't get a loan in 2008 unless you could walk on water, spell "dysphasia", and understand Bob Dylan.
After helping my clients' loans get through underwriting for a few weeks, I would finally get a loan approved.
Then, the day before settlement, I would have the following conversation with my underwriters:
"Are we all set for closing tomorrow?", I would ask.
"Yeah, about that," my underwriter would reply, "I know we gave you an approval and all, but, after thinking about it a little more, we've decided not to approve this loan."
"Maybe I misunderstood this letter that says 'approved'," I would say.
"No, you're right," my underwriter would say, "we did originally approve the loan. It's just that now we've decided not to."
I swear to you I am not making this up. This is pretty much a verbatim conversation I had on several occasions.
It would usually end with me shouting a few things into my speakerphone that probably shouldn't really be shouted, let alone spoken, in the workplace.
Banks and lenders were so nervous to approve ANYBODY, they wound up approving NOBODY.
Then, my clients would call me.
"So, Chris, are we ready for our closing tomorrow?", they would ask.
"Yeah, about that," I would reply...
So I decided I wasn't going to treat my clients that way and took a little break, cleared my head a bit. A couple of months later now, and I'm BACK with a great mortgage lender, the number one mortgage lender in the country, actually.
Just in time, too, because rates are about to drop through the floor.
Can you say REFI BOOM?
Although, that's not necessarily a GOOD thing. The reason it's happening is because the economy is in the crapper.
The reason the economy is in the crapper is because the government decided that all of us folks who have worked hard all our lives and have always paid our mortgages on time, should pay for the sins of all those who DIDN'T pay their mortgage on time.
Apparently, we should also be forced to suffer while the guys who gave 100% financing to people with 500 credit scores are taking their private jets to the Bahamas.
Apparently, corporations now have a good excuse to lay people off and cut costs wherever they can. I still have friends without jobs, I have family members without jobs.
So enough! Enough! No more bailouts. No more hand-holding.
CEO's, if your company is about to go broke, we're not paying for it, tough. The government should NOT be expected to bail you out.
Take that bailout money and divide it up among every American citizen. We'll all have enough to pay off our mortgages and stimulate the economy.
OK, first of all, I know I've been a little sporadic with the posting lately. I've been going through some career changes lately so I'll try to get back to a more regular posting schedule now that I've got a little more free time.
So our one-year-old little girl is reminding me of someone, I just can't think of who it is.
The other day we heard her fussing from the playroom. We thought she was just being grumpy, but when we walked in, she had gotten her hand stuck in one of her toys. You know, the one where they shove different shapes into the proper holes? Her hand was stuck in "the triangle", or the Bermuda Triangle in this case.
We quickly freed her hand and helped her calm down.
She calmly collected herself, picked up the toy, walked into the kitchen, and proceeded to slam it into the kitchen floor.
"Glubbadubba!", she exclaimed with an angry look on her face.
I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure if I translated that literally, it would look something like...
"@#%!*^&*($"
I just don't know where she picks up that awful temper.
She reminds me of someone, I just can't think of whom it could be.
As we were in the middle of a long car ride last week, our 4-year-old daughter was very graciously helping us entertain our 1-year-old daughter, who was clearly sick of being in the car.
My wife and I decided to sing a rousing rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus" to help keep her occupied.
If you've ever wanted to feel like a super-cool guy, forget football on Sundays or riding a motorcyle on the open road, a la Ah-nold in Terminator 2, you've just GOT to sing "Wheels on the Bus".
It's right up there with "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" in the originality department.
In fact, my first inclination was to break into the first verse of "99 Bottles". Then I realized, A) I was setting myself up for a REALLY long performance and B) something just didn't seem right about singing to my kids about beer bottles...although it does sound cool on some weird level.
Anyway, we got through almost all of the verses of "Wheels on the Bus", including the "wheels on the bus" verse, the "wipers on the bus", the "doors on the bus", the "babies on the bus", the "teachers on the bus", and the "mommies on the bus".
The "mommies on the bus", of course, go "Shh, shh, shh!"
We couldn't think of any more verses, so our 4-year-old said,
"Oh, I know! How about the 'daddies' on the bus?"
That's a new one. OK, we said.
"What exactly do the 'daddies on the bus' say?", we asked.
She replied,
"The daddies on the bus say, 'Oh, my head hurts!'"
Well, I don't know about the bus, but that was certainly how I felt right about then. How does she KNOW these things??
The other day, my wife and I were driving the kids home from the mall, when the traffic light turned yellow.
I, of course, sped up a bit to make it through the light. I did "make it" even though the light might have been "orange", as we like to call it.
Our 4-year-old daughter was very curious about this, however, much to my dismay. This is one of those things I will have to remember when I'm trying to set a good example for our older, 11-year-old daughter, who will be driving in just over 4 years (yikes!....she can hardly clean her room, let alone pilot a 2-ton moving vehicle!).
Anyway, our 4-year-old turned to me and asked,
"Daddy, why did you go faster through that light?"
My wife found this question very amusing.
"Well," I replied, "the light was about to turn red, so I had to get through it."
"But, Daddy....how did you KNOW it was going to turn red?", she asked.
You know, sometimes I swear she knows the answers to these questions but she just likes to hear herself talk or something. That, or she just doesn't know how to ask what she really wants to ask so I get the "decoy" question first.
"Well, when the light is green, you can go, but when it turns yellow, that means it's about to turn red, and then you have to wait.", I answered.
"Oh!", she exclaimed. Aha! The light bulb has gone off. Whew.
Then, as is inevitably the case with my kids, the whole illusion unraveled right before my eyes.
"But, Daddy.....I thought that a yellow light meant you were supposed to slow DOWN?"
"Well, sweetie, that's for OTHER people.", I thought to myself.
What I said on the OUTSIDE was,
"That's right, sweetie! Very good job. Here, have some M&M's."
Remember, when all else fails, distraction is your friend!
I went to get a haircut last week as I usually do when the temperature hits 90 degrees. After all, if the air conditioning is all the way down, the kids are running around the house in their underwear, and the back deck thermometer reads 110 degrees (it's in direct sunlight), then the only thing I can do is go get as much of this thick black stuff off my head as possible.
Except that it's not so black these days. As my 'stylist' was cutting my hair (I can't say 'barber'...my wife looked at me and said, "Who still says 'barber'?"...I do, but that's beside the point), I noticed more and more gray hair falling to the floor. How does this happen?
Look, there goes one now! That one was caused by the fact that our central air coniditioning broke right before the 4th of July weekend.
You might think, "Gee, Chris, that must have been hot."
Trust me when I tell you that you have NO idea. I actually lost 5 pounds. We would all come back home from running errands, open the front door and wait for that refreshing cold blast....oh yeah, it's broken. It was HOT. I mean it was Africa HOT!
There's nothing I love more than sweating my ass off for a few days and then shelling out several thousand dollars on a new central air unit. This one lasted 16 years so I shouldn't complain. Did I mention that it was HOT?
Look, there goes another gray hair. That one was from last Tuesday when my 11-year-old daughter, was rocking in our living room rocking chair...a little too aggressively. So aggressively, in fact, that she slammed into our grandfather clock, knocked it over and it shattered into a million pieces all over the living room floor.
Boy, I'll tell you, there's nothing more fun with a toddler in the house than worrying about broken glass all over the floor.
We pretty much had a cow...and the clock is toast. I've never really seen a grandfather clock shatter. In retrospect, it was quite a site to see. It's one of those things you've always WANTED to do, but never really had the opportunity. Kind of like seeing if Super Glue really COULD hold you suspended in mid-air by a hard hat.
Look, there goes another gray hair. That's from when our 11-year-old BIT our 4-year-old last week. Nope, I didn't get that backwards. To make it worse, she was fighting with her over a tub of building blocks. Yes, building blocks.
I think older siblings that have younger siblings must just revert to the age of the youngest sibling. I remember getting in to quite a few "nyah nyah" battles with my younger brother as a teen. I don't remember biting him, though. The things I did were much worse.
Oh, there's another gray hair. That's from the 11-month-old constantly splashing around in the dog's water dish. She also likes to stealthily sneak under my chair and turn the computer off. Oh, and that other gray hair, that's from when I caught the dog drinking out of our toilet last night.
Look, there go a couple more gray hairs. Let's see, those are from the fact that both our 4-year-old and 11-month-old daughters had colds last week and were miserable and grouchy. Oh, and that other gray hair, that's because our printer broke at home and we have to go get a new one. Oh, and that other gray hair, well, that's because I'm in the mortgage industry. Enough said.
Hey, look at that. Walgreens is having a sale on "Just for Men".
"Honey, I'm heading out! I'll be back when school starts."
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