son 2 - dad, i snuck into your room last night while you were sleeping.
big dumb dad - really?
son 2 - yep, i stole your butt.

there are certain unarguable basic truths of mathematics. truths so true that if they ceased being true, it would have truly horrific implications. bridges would fall, airplanes would drop from the sky, cats would explode, and belgian waffles would collapse under their own weight. an example of a mathematical truth would be, well i am much too busy writing this blog entry to get into it right now.

anyway, all this to draw a parallel (ironicaly drawing parallel lines depends on mathematical truths) to humor. humor also has certain unarguable truths. a mooring of comedy is the assumption that butts are funny (see, it worked already). if this truth ceased being true, it would be a humorless universe. Monty Python would explode, Bevis and Butthead would collapse under their own weight.

now, getting on to the point of this entry, much like mathematics has a beautiful mind in john nash, humor has a beautiful butt in my 5 year old son. such insight to the inner workings of comedy at such a young age is truly amazing. son two fully comprehends the funny that is "butt". as previously reported, "butt" has become the punch line to all his jokes, magnifying the hilarity by a factor of 8.

here is how it works.

why did the chicken cross the road? because he had a chicken butt.

knock, knock. who's there? a knocking butt.

what do you get when you cross an elephant with a pig? a butt.

i could site many more examples but i think you're picking up on what i am laying down. i will also have you know this post could cost me my life. i have broken the first commandment of the secret society of humorists, never reveal the secrets of funny. or maybe that was magicians. can't remember.

butt.

son three's first halloween was marred by an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction. the wife claims he is supposed to be an elephant. i think he is a dick head.

why a dick head?
- since when do elephants have a scrotum under their trunk
- since when do elephants have a patch of fur just above their trunk that resembles pubic hair?
- since when is an elephant trunk 6 inches long and fully erect?

some where in a tiawanese costume factory, a small man is laughing his little ass off thinking of american mothers proudly parading around little dick head babies.

son 2 started kindergarten in august. son 2 is very shy. a week ago we received a report from the teacher, she was concerned that he was not verbally participating in class exercises. i talked with son 2 and encouraged him to be more involved and raise his hand more often.

today, the teacher was discussing shapes and what you might do with shapes. one student suggested "put a triangle on your head like a hat". another announced "put a square in your hand". son 2 recognized this as his opportunity to raise his hand for the first time. eager to get him involved, she called on him.

"put a circle in your butt!" he said excitedly.

all the students laughed. son 2 laughed the hardest. the teacher tried not to laugh.

overjoyed he actually said something, she decided not to scold him.

i now fear the positive reinforcement of laughter will result in similar answers being used for future questions, "class, what is 2 plus 2?"

hey lady, put a rhombus in your rear.

so, did i tell you i have a new baby. oh, i did. well that is about all the news from the ultramicroscopic camp.

few events can generate small talk like having a baby. as previously noted, i hate small talk (clarification, watching others engage in painful awkward small talk is entertaining and i do enjoy that immensely).

there really isn't that much to talk about, babies are babies, but everyone feels they must talk baby with me. below is the transcript documenting my last 58 identical conversations.

person - hey, heard you have a new baby?
me - yup.
person - boy or girl.
me - boy.
person - great, what is his name?
me - casey.
person - how much does he weigh, and how long is he?
me - 9lb, 2oz, 20.5 inches.
person - wow.

then we stare at each other for a good long while. person has collected all the meta data available and there is nothing more to discuss. a baby has yet to develop any personality or physical traits to talk about at length.

in a weird way, i kind of wish son three was born with a prehensile tail or something to generate more conversation.

person - hey, heard you have a new baby.
me - i guess you could call it that.
person - boy or girl.
me - actually a hermaphrodite with a prehensile tail, gills and deep interest in the history of dirigible aircraft.
person - where do you get diapers to accommodate the tail?
me - freaks-r-us baby store next to the wall-mart.
person - are the gills functioning or simply aesthetic?
me - fully functioning, rated for depths up to 6 fathoms.
person - wow, tell me more!

and the conversation could carry it's self for hours.

dallas, texas (ap) - evidence has been recovered linking weapons of mass hydration to relatives of the children's liberation front. the same weapons used in a seemingly random but vicious attack july 8th, leaving several critically soaked.

incredibly, it is now believed that the primary target of the CLF was in fact the purchaser and constructor of the weapons. witnesses claim to have seen big dumb dad filling the self propelled projectile casings with a mixture of 2 parts hydrogen per 1 part oxygen. this only moments before the massacre. the mixture was similar, if not the same as a mixture found saturating big dumb dad's clothing after the attack.

the july 8th attack was merciless. the battle field stands littered with shards of rubber casings, and pride.

as i rounded the corner, there were many oddities demanding my attention.

a construction zone, a car parked in the right lane, a woman standing in the street, an abandon car 15 feet off the road, and finally a woman's legs protruding from the driver side window of the abandon car.

the wife looked up from her magazine just in time to scream "look out", but it was too late. an oversized rubber traffic cone folded under my grill. it made horrific noises as it traveled under the van and was spit out the rear. i never even had the chance to hit the brakes.

as i continued driving, i began explaining to wife about all the distractions contributing to the now mangled traffic cone behind us.

"there was a woman sticking out of a car and another standing in the street..."

i stopped my explanation short realizing it didn't matter and i was a little too weirded out to talk anyway. for the next mile or so, the car was consumed by silence. from the back of the mini van, son one finally broke the silence.

"dad, did you kill her?"

my wife laughed till she cried. i guess she thinks it's funny our kids believe dad would run a woman over without slowing and continue on as if nothing happened.

on the upside, if i do ever mow down a pedestrian with the kids in the car, i now have a free pass. i will tell them it was a giant traffic cone.

as i was tucking son one into bed, i noticed a stray milk dud on the carpet. i was too tired to stomp my feet and yell like i have a thousand times before, so i tried a different approach.

"you know, food on the floor will attract a cockroach. the roach will live under your bed and feed on your crumbs. he will grow larger and larger till the crumbs no longer satisfy him. on that night, the giant cockroach will reach up over the edge of your bed, pull you under and eat you. good night."

i interpreted his giggling as a sign he understood i was only kidding, but also understood that i was not pleased about the stray milk dud.

that was several sleepless nights ago. what the hell was i thinking?

worst. dad. ever.

I have been working in detroit for the last 4 weeks. this site has been sorely neglected. so have my children. today, i am back home. my son asked if we could build a work robot that looks like me so i could stay home.

listen closely to the sound of my heart breaking.

notification comes that the final easter egg has been recovered from ultrahouse. the lingering scent of burnt chocolate and melting plastic led to a magnificent discovery.

every third electrical outlet in the ultrahouse is consumed by a wonderfully odiferous (that really should be a word) device. these devices use electricity to slow cook special oils. i think they are referred to as "plug in air fresheners". something i never encountered in my bachelor life.

the exceedingly handsome, 230 pound, six foot, three inch tall easter bunny realized these devices make clever holders for small, brightly colored plastic eggs containing chocolate. so clever as a hiding spot, the eggs may go completely unfound on easter day (or even weeks after the day).

the wife discovered one of these odiferous devices held an empty plastic egg shell with a large hole melted away from it's bottom.

i told the wife such great hiding abilities is proof the easter bunny is pure genius. in addition to being a great hiding place, it also included a time release notification if the egg went unclaimed. again, undeniable pure genius.

wife claims the easter bunny is an ass.

when i heard the scream from the bathroom, i immediately assumed son one (6) had caught his head in the drain or perhaps he decided to bring the radio in the shower with him. i raced into the bathroom to find him standing naked with hair half towel dried. he held a towel with pinched thumb and forefinger as far from himself as possible. the towel was mostly white except for a three inch wide, six inch long swath of brown.

"there's poop on this towel!" he screamed at me. an impromptu family meeting ensued.

currently the poo commission is unable to determine the origins or history of the poo towel. all potential suspects (mother, father, brother and even the victim) were interviewed but no one cracked under the questioning. it remains an open investigation. the poo towel is only one in a streak of crimes against the household. other open cases include the juice stained carpet, the cracker crumb trail, the missing shoe, and the great toilet clogging of 2004 (which the commission believes may be linked to the poo towel incident).

i live in a house of mystery and deceit.

the underpaid youth consultant (son two, 5 years old) here at ultramicroscopic, recently reported "a frog is better than a sleeping bag". i didn't question his research or sources, i trust it to be true.

admittedly, this finding was a bit of an epiphany for the management here at ultramicroscopic. it is important to compare things, otherwise we would never know what is better. i consulted our tiny consultant further. as a service to the reader, ultramicroscopic is providing the results of our consultant's work.

a jar is better than an elastic waist band
a hat is better than a compass
a string is better than a tree leaf
a plate is better than a fig
aluminum foil is better than toe jam

if you have anything you would like compared, leave it in the comments and i will schedule more time with our consultant. thank you.

i asked my wife where she found an apple sticker to put on the back of son 2's tricycle. she had no idea what i was talking about. it made my day, but i still wonder where he found the sticker.

whenever traveling for work, i bring home a small gift for the boys. this little tradition has come around to bite me in the ass. weekly commutes to atlanta result in weekly gifts for the boys.

the first couple weeks, i would pick them up something that had an atanta connection like a braves hat or something. this quickly became a hassle finding new things and fitting them into my one carry on bag.

then i discovered that a nerf football from the wal-mart on the way home from the airport looks exactly like the nerf football from a fancy toy store in atlanta. alas, over time, even the wal-mart became a pain in the ass.

this week i gave the boys a big cardboard box (pictured above). It was a smashing success, and kept them entertained much longer than the jimmy carter collector commemorative dinner plates from week 3.

never underestimate the entertainment value of a cardboard box to a 4 year old. next week, they get piece of string and a wire hanger.

son 2: dad, will you tell me when my teeth break?
me: um... yeah, but why?
son 2: so i know when to wear those.

he pointed to a set of plastic vampire fangs he had packed into the identity card pocket of his buzz lightyear travel bag (pictured above).

it is always interesting to see what a 4 year old packs for vacation. mine insisted his set of plastic vampire fangs were absolutely essential. as it turns out, his teeth didn't break and he didn't need them.

i no longer give people "yes" or "no" confirmation when invited to any type of event. i respond with the percentage that represents the chance of participation. similar to a meteorologist's "chance of precipitation". also similar to the meteorologist, i can not be blamed if completely wrong.

friends with no children (or wife) have a hard time understanding this type of answer. that's because they control their destiny. they unknowingly make hundreds of simple decisions daily that drive that destiny. I make no decisions, my destiny is driven by others.

if i predict there is a 40% chance of participation when invited to happy hour at 6pm, that mean there is a 23% chance i could be watching cartoon network, a 17% i could be in a hospital emergency room, a 11% chance i could be building a pillow fort, a 7% chance i could be attending a youth soccer game, oh and a 2% chance i will be passed out drunk in my underwear watching sports center. any one of these activities could break out at any time, and all are beyond my control.

generally the chance of participation is fairly low. know you are lucky if i ever respond with a chance over 40%. here are some examples of recent predictions.

4th birthday party for neighbor's kid, 95% chance
baby shower for wife's friend, 70% chance
wearing sponge bob underwear on my head, 63% chance
falling asleep at the mcdonald's fun land, 51% chance
re-claiming my children from child protective services, 42% chance
staying at the ballpark for 4 innings, 38% chance
staying at the ballpark for 9 innings, 12% chance
all night poker game with beer buddies, 2% chance
lost weekend in vegas involving black jack, tequila, the bunny ranch, and 5 asian dwarfs, 0% chance

my son has been genetically cursed with the same inability of my wife and i to tell a joke.

son 1: dad, what did the grape say when the elephant stepped on him?
me: I don't know, what did the grape say.
son1: nothing he just wanted to get to the other side of the road.
me: hmmm.

actually, he is much better at the improvisational comedy. the latest...

son1: dad, why did the cat cross the road?
me: i don't know, why did the cat cross the road?
son1: to step on the chicken.
me: hmmm.

it would be much funnier if told standing in front of a brick wall.

yesterday was son one's sixth birthday. looking through some old photos, i ran across these, so i thought i would share.

the wife was a little bummed that we were so far (texas) from freinds and family (michigan) for the birth of our first son. i wanted to bring everyone into the delivery room but thought that might be a little weird, so i secretly snapped polaroids of freinds and family holding notes i had made in a sketch book. i gave her the photos spread out over the 12 hours of labor to keep her spirits up.

the best pictures were the ones i took of complete strangers in a bar, i can't find those.

six years ago seems like yesterday.

- one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - twelve -

the greatest thing about having young children is the constant barrage of non sequiturs. not just in what they say, but in their movements, their games, and almost everything they do. it can be very confusing.

yesterday both boys came rambling into the living room where my wife an i sat, they were giggling maniacally. the naked one was holding an egg timer that rang only a second after they had entered the room. upon hearing the alarm the one wearing a pillow case on his head said "awwwe, maaannnnnnn!" then they both started giggling again and sprinted out of the room. the entire scene took only a few seconds.

the wife and i looked at each other silently for a second then resumed reading the paper. there was nothing to say because there was nothing to understand.

it's another ice day here in dallas. a good time to think about swimming.

above, (and here) my son executes a perfect cannonball.

much of the credit should go to his coach. this is only one of very complicated dives i taught him over the summer.

other dives include...
- the can opener dive
- the screaming maniac dive
- the man reading a newspaper and walking off a cliff dive
- the nestea plunge dive
- the injured teradactyle dive
- the man waiting for a bus pushed from behind dive.

i do not believe the 2004 olympics are out of the question.

son one is in kindergarten. each morning it takes a hurculean effort to get him dressed for school.

nearing wit's end, wife has turned to a popular child rearing technique known as "love and logic". the most basic premise is not to hassle or force your kids into action. let them make their own decisions (within logical limits) and live with consequences. the simple theory being, the children will learn from their mistakes and eventually be able to consider consequences before actions and make better decisions.

today we gave son one the option of wearing the outfit pre-selected by the wife or his sleeping attire. he chose the latter.

he wore a fat chick night shirt to school today.

he will be teased.

we are raising either a future president or a future bell tower sniper.

a few days before christmas my boys asked me what kind of gift i wanted. before they could finish asking the question, and with out thinking i said "underwear and socks". as soon as i said it, i realized i have become my dad. i always thought my dad just gave that answer because it was an easy one. i now realize he (and now i) honestly want new socks and new underwear.

so any way, i have also found out asking for something specific is a guarantee that you will not get it. kids buy fathers 2 kinds of gifts. the first are gifts that the kids really want for themselves, like a new hot wheels track or legos. the second kind of gift is one that doesn't need to be wrapped because even after unwrapping it you still don't know what it is. this past christmas, my gift was one of those (pictured above).

the "octopus" is designed to massage your head, it took me a great deal of time to discover that. i put the octopus on the closet shelf next to some other dusty old dad gifts. recently my son saw it and asked me if it worked. i had assumed not, but said "yes" and i decided to give him a demonstration.

this thing is incredible. it really works! my scalp shivers and tingles as the tentacles do their work. i find strange noises of pleasure coming from myself as move the octopus about my head. i often have to slow down or stop after only a few minutes, the sensations are too intense. after 10 minutes or so i melt into a puddle and can take no more. the refractory period lasts about 20 minutes, then i will sometimes let the octopus dance an encore.

after watching one of my sessions with the octopus, i asked my wife if she wanted to try it. she said no, she claimed she didn't want any of my scalp cooties. she also said the man with the octopus cart in the mall gave her a demonstration before the boys bought it. i told her it was odd she feared her husband's scalp cooties, but didn't mind the cooties of a thousand flea infested mall rats on which the octopus man had previously demonstrated.

she ran to the shower and is still washing her hair now.

saturday the y-guide nation had the annual derby event. above, son one holds the derby car judged to be 2nd (from over 150 entries) in the "done by child" category. the purpose of the category is to recognize kids that were actually involved the creation of their car.

unfortunately, the spirit of competition racing drives most fathers to over design, build and paint the vehicles while the son watches television. many show up on race day with a derby tackle box containing tools for performance tweaking on the fly, both graphite and liquid lubrication for the axles, and supplemental weights to meet but not exceed the weight limits. it is sort of sad the father-son co-opperation element is lost.

all that being said, i put a lot of work into that car to ONLY win SECOND in the "done by child" category! i am going to hunt down the little bastard that won first place and smash his ugly little car. no, wait, slow down... i know that is wrong. correction, WE will hunt down the little bastard together! it is an opportunity for a quality bonding experience for both my son and i.

12:30 am, returning home.

i decide to drive by the front of my house to see how the christmas lights look.

it is late and my house is the last on the block still lit. wife and kids are asleep, the lights are waiting for me to turn them off. seven years at this house has resulted in an odd combination of lights, big blue ones, little white ones, and a few strings that seem to slowly throb. there is no continuity. the lights are applied haphazardly to the shrubs and roofline. it appears very amateurishly done.

a three foot tall plastic santa lies on his side, a victim of the recent high winds. he also waits for me.

a tricycle is parked next to a basketball goal in front of the house. inside my son's window i can see light shifting colors. the light exuding from a fiber optic peacock. i received the hideous peacock the day before in a white elephant gift exchange. i intended to re-gift it at the party i had attended that night, but my son thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the peacock was waiting to be turned off.

all the lights illuminate the sidewalk enough to see what barely remains of four day old chalk drawings. drawings by a three year old, done so crudely, only his father can decode them.

i press the button to open the garage door. the garage has been left lit also, making the eight steps from the car door the house door much easier to navigate. i like coming home to a lit garage. i turn off the light as i enter my home.

i love my life.

six years ago (before i had children) my view of the world was much different.

when someone at the office announced they were expecting a baby, i wondered why they wasted my time to tell me such a thing. i was indifferent about the news and slightly annoyed that i was supposed to act excited. to me, having a baby was not much different than going to the store and purchasing light bulbs. not necessarily worth shouting to the world about.

then i had a baby. my view changed.

i was genuinely excited when others told me they were expecting a baby. i was enthralled with the whole "miracle of life" idea. i actively and excitedly participated in conversations about mucus plugs, breast feeding, nursery decor, and baby car seats. everything was roses, even baby snot was cute to me.

a year into my second baby, my view changed again.

i am still genuinely excited, but in a different way. I am excited to see that guy in the office that never misses a happy hour, plays basketball and softball four times a week and drives a corvette will soon lose every personal freedom that makes me hate him. i am genuinely excited to see some one other than myself will find petrified cheerios fused to the elbows of his favorite shirt. excited to know he will soon be forced to use that ridiculously expensive palm pda to schedule un-spontaneous sex with his wife when both of their schedules agree. excited to know his bank account will be quickly siphoned off, one 3 dollar bottle of non allergenic formula at a time.

welcome to my world, sucker.

my very earliest childhood memories begin at 3 to 4 years old.

i figure, what is the use of interacting with my son if he is not going to remember it anyway. seems kinda like a waste of time.

well, son #2 recently turned 3, i should probably introduce myself. he has been eyeing me suspiciously around the house lately.

managing the energy level of your kids in the back seat of a car is a fine art. dipping energy levels lead to whining, peaking energy levels leads to fighting. it is a very delicate balance. much like winona ryder's doctor finding the perfect balance of prozac and ritalin.

sensing they were dropping to dangerous levels, quick action was needed. the field to the left contained hundreds of cows. they appeared very disorganized, many lay on the ground. in an effort to raise the boys energy levels, i rolled down the window. without thinking too much, i shouted.

"hey cows, no layin' down on the job! moo cow moo!"

not exactly comic genius, but for a 3 and 5 year old, it killed. the boys giggled maniacally, levels resumed.

unfortunately, that small action had long lasting ramifications, pushing me to the brink of insanity. this has now become the family catch phrase.

the boys are constantly rolling down the car windows to shout as we drive by. the boys have widened the scope beyond cows. hey birds, .... hey trees, ... hey homeless, ... hey hells angels, ...

two possible endings to this. relocation to a mental institution, beaten to death in my sleep by a mob angry cows.

my kids can identify the days of the week by name and in order. not by the proper day names, rather the names they have given the days.

i am giving up teaching the proper names. i am tired and their names seem to work fine. so, i would like you all to join me in adopting their names to avoid the pain of me teaching and them learning the proper day names.

the day formerly known as Sunday is now "donut day"
the day formerly known as Monday is now "daddy goes to work day"
the day formerly known as Tuesday is now "play group day"
the day formerly known as Wednesday is now "swimming day"
the day formerly known as Thursday is now "daddy's drunk again day"
the day formerly known as Friday is now "justice league day"
the day formerly known as Saturday is now "daddy stays home day"

i understand most calender will need to be reprinted, but they will be out of date in 6 months any way. thank you for your co-opperation.

i built the fort from pillows and blankets. i slid the cookies under the "secret entrance".

i am the world's greatest architect.
i can out run a cheeta.
i know everything.
i am the strongest muscle man.
i can fix any thing.
i make the best pop tarts.
i am the lego master.
i can draw batman better than anyone.

i can beat up the neighbor kid's dad.

none of this will be true in 7 years,

my wife just booked her annual trip to visit her parents sans kids. it reminded me that a new hoax must be planned.

last year she was very worried about me taking good care of the kids. to ease her mind i emailed a photo a day of the kids to show her how well we were doing without her.

the photos:

i fed them quite well...

we went to the zoo...

number 2 claimed a kangaroo ear as a souvenir...

i made sure they were dressed properly...

number one may have been allergic to the laundry soap...

now accepting ideas for this years hoax.

it was really hot. my yard work attire consisted of an old concert t-shirt and ragged blue jean shorts. both saturated with a combination of sweat, dirt, and lunch. after mowing the backyard i wheeled the mower around to the front. upon surveying the yard and the heat of the summer i lost all interest in mowing the front. i left the mower where it stood and fetched a beer from the fridge.

i returned to the yard and sat in one of my 2 mismatched lawn chairs.

because i had been working in the garage, the car was parked out front. my 3 year old was giving the car an impromptu washing, no time for a swim suit, just his diaper.

i decided my hair was getting to be a hassle, so i went inside and found my electric hair clippers. back outside, i sat down and shaved my head. i let the hair fall to the grass.

i took a swig of beer and realized how this scene might appear to a neighbor.

lawn chairs, beer, naked kid, car wash, an idle mower parked in overgrown grass, and a self given hair cut. the whole scene must have appeared very redneck. the only thing missing were chickens wandering about the yard.

wearing a shirt was the only thing that stood between me an my debut on COPS.

the insect wrangler again attempted to place a butterfly on his shoulder. it was the sixth try. it fluttered off. my son was tired of the whole scene and so was i.

"that's ok, i'll just get a few shots of him standing near the butterflies." i told the wrangler again.

"just be ready to snap the picture when i find a more docile one." wrangler replied.

"no, really it's ok, thanks any way.

seconds later wrangler returned with another. without asking, he attached it to my sons shoulder. i use the word "attached" because this one was deceased.

'E's passed on! This butterfly is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-BUTTERFLY!!*

i took the picture only because i had to.

this was the ender for my son. i quickly removed the dead bug and we left the butterfly tent. only the future will tell how this affected him. years from now i fully expect it will manifest itself in some crazy insect crush fetish or an absurd fear of butterflies.

*thanks monty!

stop.
make it all stop right here.
all is perfect.
he never needs to know about 9-11, pedofile priests, cancer, or school shootings.
right now his world is the slip and slide on a sunny summer day.
simple, perfect, and finite.
i want to capture this, not with text, photo or video. in a way he and i can experience with all of our senses, again and again .
memory is not enough.

*title stolen from xtc

my mom's green raleigh bicycle had a child seat mounted on the back. she peddled, i watched everything pass by at 12 miles an hour. we once rode through a park and passed a small brick structure barely wider than the door attached to it. I asked my mom what was in the building. she told me that that was where they kept all the insects, and that i should never open the door.

thinking back, it must have been a tool shed. i believed what she told me for a long time.

a couple weeks ago giant fluffy white snowflakes gently drifted downward, delicately landing on the grass. a rare event in dallas. my son was very excited and woke me up to tell me about the snow. he asked if we could go outside to catch the flakes on our tongues. i told him those were the flesh eating snowflakes that devoured our cat.