The Jerk Store Called And They're Running Out Of Me

Zoey graduated from kindergarten last week. I believe a bunch of the girls are headed to Cancun for Grad Week.

They had a nice little graduation ceremony for the kids (yeah, who the hell am I kidding -- we all know it was for the parents). Right before they received their diplomas, the kids marched onto the stage of the auditorium and acted out the lyrics to a song.

I recognized the song, but couldn't place it.

When the kids got to the chorus, the light bulb went off above my head. I rolled my eyes and whispered to Ella, "Oh my God. I can't believe they're doing Celine." When she didn't answer me, I looked at her.

She was crying.

Of course, it doesn't take much to tug at her heartstrings. She's the heart and I'm the head. It makes for a good balance.

So I turned to the person next to me to see if she was a little bit freaked out to see the kids doing this strange Celine Dion pantomime. She was also crying.

I scanned the room and noticed there wasn't a dry eye in the house. It was like everyone was watching the last few minutes of Rudy.

It was then that I realized that I'm a heartless bastard. And while I've come to that conclusion before, it's never been as apparent as it was that day.

Song of the day: Because You Loved Me by Celine Dion

Four Minus One

The wife left yesterday morning for Austin. While I'm quite adept at taking care of the kids by myself (at least that's what I like to tell myself), it's those last three hours of the day, from 5:30 - 8:30 PM, that kill me. I'm used to tag-teaming the kids with her during supper, baths, and bedtime, so when I'm flying solo, it feels like it lasts six hours.

I'm a wuss.

I miss her assistance.

I miss her.

But my daughter? I'm not so sure she misses Ella.

When we told Zoey that Ella was going out of town on business, her first reply was, "Will you bring me back something?" After she was assured that Ella would be returning with gifts in tow, Zoey said, "Cool! We can be like Hannah's family!"*

I'm sure that made Ella feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

*For those of you who are luckily not as well-versed in all things Hannah Montana, Hannah's mother is dead. It's just her, her father, and her brother. I don't know how Hannah's mother bit the dust, but I did see a flashback episode in which Brooke Shields played Hannah's mother.

Song of the day: Teas'n, Pleas'n by Dangerous Toys

It Was Way Too Early For This Conversation

Ella was getting ready for work this morning when Zoey came waltzing into our bedroom.

Zoey took one look at the thong Ella was wearing and said, "Mommy! Your underwear's on backwards. The little part goes in the front!"

And that's when I pretended to be asleep.

Song of the day: Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus

Will You Lend A Helping Hand?

This morning, I was loading the dishwasher when I saw a little hand made of construction paper lying on the kitchen table. I picked it up and noticed it read, "A helping hand was here." I went and found Ella and asked her about it.

She told me, "It's for the Daisy Scouts. Zoey is supposed to help out around the house without being told to do so. When she does something helpful, she leaves one of these hands."

"Cool," I said. "Random acts of kindness."

"And we're supposed to set a good example," Ella continued. "We're supposed to leave these hands around the house when we lend a helping hand, too."

"Hmmm," I said. "Any chance you'll be leaving one of those here tonight?" I asked, nodding at my crotch.

Her reply?

Silence.

And eye rolling.

Song of the day: Christmas Time (Don't Let The Bells End) by The Darkness

Pillow Talk

"Your hair's really getting long, you know?"

"Hmm?"

"Your hair is really long."

"I know. I had two people call me ma'am this week."

"When are you planning on getting it cut?"

"April."

"APRIL! Why April?"

"Because Zoey's school is having a fundraiser. Locks For Charity, or something like that."

"There's no way you're waiting until April."

"Of course, by then, it might be so long that I might be tempted to tease it up and start a glam cover band."

"Good night."

"You'll still be my #1 groupie."

"Good night."

Song of the day: The Joke: The Musical from Mr. Show

Women Are From Venus, Men Eat Buffalo Wings

On Saturday, Ella and I were able to go on a rare afternoon date! This was our second date this summer, so we need to be careful before we spoil ourselves.

We caught Superbad, which not as funny as we had hoped. I wanted to see Rob Zombie's Halloween and Ella wanted to see The Nanny Diaries, so we compromised. The first twenty minutes of Superbad were quite funny (especially Jonah Hill's "art problem"), but it all went downhill after they went to the liquor store.

The theater was about half filled, but we had two Hetero Guys seated near us trying to out-hetero each other during the sleeping bag scene near the end. "I'm feeling uncomfortable," said Hetero #1. "This just ain't right," replied Hetero #2. Grow up, fellas. It's 2007.

Before the movie, we had lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings. I'm always on the search for the perfect buffalo wing, so we decided to give them a try (verdict: decent wings, but far from perfect). The place was packed with Appalachian State fans cheering on their team. We were able to see the first half of the Greatest Upset In The History Of Sports before leaving to see the movie.

On the way to the theater, I was telling Ella how I'd like to go back to the restaurant. "I bet you would," she said. "There's a billion televisions with sports and all they serve is man food." "Man food?" I asked. "Buffalo wings, potato skins, cheese sticks, deep-fried appetizer crap," she replied. "If that's man food, what's woman food? A salad?" I asked her. She didn't have an answer for me.

So, if buffalo wings, potato skins, cheese sticks, and the like are "man food," what is woman food? I know most of my readers are women, so I'd really like to hear your thoughts.

And if anyone knows of a chain that makes great wings (spicy, but flavorful), let me know.

Song of the day: Valerie by The Zutons

Gall

I was doing some work around the house early this evening when Ella and the kids came in from outside.

Ella: Guess what Jennifer just asked me?

***

Jennifer is our next-door neighbor. She has a son one year older than Zoey, a daughter one year younger than Zoey, and another daughter who is a year younger than Zed. She is one of those people who truly believes "it takes a village." As in, she wants the village to raise her children. We'll be outside playing and she'll come over and ask if they can play. Of course, I say yes. Five minutes later, she'll tell me she needs to [make a phone call, put the youngest down for a nap, start cooking dinner, give herself a bikini wax, yadda yadda excuse] and asks if I would mind watching the two oldest kids.

Because I'm a sucker, I always say yes.

***

Me: She wants us to babysit her kids?
Ella: All twenty of them!
Me: Huh?

Ella then proceeded to tell me that Jennifer was planning on throwing a back-to-preschool party for her daughter's preschool class. She invited Zoey and told Ella that Zoey could invite a friend or two.

And then she had the audacity to ask if all the kids could come over and play in our backyard. Can you believe that? I know I like to joke that I have an amusement park in our backyard, but it's truly just a joke.

Me: What did you tell her?
Ella: NO WAY!

At least one of us has some balls.

Song of the day: Paradise By The Dashboard Light by Meat Loaf

Why I'm Better Off Than Some People

I know I should probably write about Zed's autism more often. But I try to keep things lighthearted on this site. And autism jokes don't usually play well.

Anyway, Zed's been doing great with therapy so far. We've noticed a big improvement in all aspects of his life since he's begun his sessions. He's saying a few words now: mama, sis, dada, eat, baby, bear, duck, kitty, bookie (calm down, I don't have a gambling problem; this is Zed's word for book), and will sing along to parts of Old Macdonald Had A Farm (the E-I-E-I-O part and certain animal noises).

He's also become quite adept at animal noises. He can make the following animal sounds on command: monkey, sheep, duck, cow, lion, snake, and cat. Unfortunately, we don't live on a farm or in a zoo (figuratively, yes), but he's learning, so we're quite pleased. He is also signing "More."

I am very fortunate. We're lucky to have had him diagnosed so early. We're lucky to have the support of family and friends. We're lucky to have great therapists who seem to root for Zed and get as excited about his progress as we do. We're lucky to have a great Services Coordinator who tracks down resources for us, lines up evaluations, and does everything else we ask of her (and poor thing, we do ask a lot of her). We lucky to have a great support network in our town and have met some great couples going through the same thing. One couple is serving as our mentors, letting us know what roads they've traveled and giving their feedback on different therapies, issues, etc. while never actually telling us what to do.

But most of all, I'm lucky to have such a wonderful wife. She is there for me and I like to think I am there for her as well. We have fully immersed ourselves in researching autism and different theories and therapies. We are working together toward one common goal: to give Zed the tools and resources he needs to become the best person he can be (the same thing we do for Zoey).

Because as I have recently found out, this isn't always the case.

Two weeks ago, we were at a playdate with several of the kids in Zoey's preschool class. One of the moms confided in me that her son has always been hyper and she was convinced he had ADHD. It turns out that after several rounds of testing, her son has Sensory Integration Dysfunction which is causing him to lash out at his surroundings until he reaches a level of comfort, after which he is fine. She has been taking him to weekly therapy sessions. But her husband refuses to acknowledge their son's condition. "He's just a boy being a boy," the husband tells her. He refuses to take part in the therapy sessions and does not make an effort to help his wife continue the lessons she learned in the sessions.

On Sunday, we went to a pig pickin' sponsored by our community association. I was sitting on a bench, making small talk with a woman. We were talking about schools and I told her where Zed will be going to preschool in a few weeks (it's a place that has a lot of experience with autistic children, but also enrolls neurotypical children). She must have been familiar with the place because she immediately started crying. She went on to relate how she is convinced her son has Asperger's Syndrome. She told me about her son and much of what she said jibed with the classic traits of Asperger's. But they have not had their son tested because the husband absolutely refuses to address the issue. The wife has felt that something was "not right" about her son since he was four. He is now eight. The school counselor has dropped hints. But the husband still refuses to have him tested. "He'll grow out of it."

I don't mean to pick on men because I'm sure there are also women out there who are the same way, but what kind of macho jock crap is this? I can understand the denial and the fear of finding out the truth like in the second guy's case. When Zed was diagnosed with autism, I didn't want to believe it. But I quickly came to terms with it and started working on getting Zed the help he needs. But four years of denial? Please. And I cannot begin to wrap my head around the first guy. He has been told that his son needs therapy and yet refuses to take part in it.

There's more to life than being the father of the high school quarterback. And just because your son has autism, ADHD, Asperger's Syndrome, or SID doesn't mean he won't grow up to be the high school quarterback. But he will need your love and, most of all, your support if he is going to reach this and all other goals.

I don't really know what to say to these people. I just listen to their stories, offer my suggestions and support, and silently thank the heavens that I have Ella in my life. What would you do in these situations?

If you have any concerns about the development of your child, please review the Autism Society of America's characteristics of autism. Early intervention is the key in treating autism.

Song of the day: Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright

The Bubble Master's Father's Day

I'm Officially Done With Parenting Tips

At Zed's first speech therapy session, his therapist brought out a little pig that blew bubbles. He was enthralled. He laughed. He couldn't get enough of the damn thing.

Needless to say, we rushed out to Target that night to buy him one.

We've used it in both of his therapies since then. Whenever he gets a little pissed off, we come back to the bubbles. It always calms him down. It's our safety net.

Today at his education therapy session, we decided that we would start using the bubbles as a reward and not as an actual tool. Once he completes a task, we blow the bubbles for a little bit while trying to get him to sign "More" or, God forbid, actually say the word.

This evening, I was telling Ella the way Zed prefers his bubbles. "He likes it best if you blow it in his face, then raise pig up in the air, and then lower the pig. That way he gets three separate waves of bubbles."

"Who are you, The Bubble Master?" she asked.

Thanks Ella!

The Best Father's Day Present Ever

This is my sixth Father's Day (I celebrated my first while Zoey was still in utero). I've received plenty of gifts over the years (never ties, though), but this year was the best. What did I get?

A scrapbook.

Zoey, Zed, and (mostly) Ella made a scrapbook with some of my favorite photos. On each page, Zoey would write something about the picture. Like "I like it when my Daddy dances the polka with me."

She must be talking about her other Daddy. I've never done the polka in my life. Unless you count that one drunken night in college. But even then, I think it resembled The Humpty Dance more than the polka.

And on pages where she didn't have photographs to illustrate her feelings, Zoey drew pictures. And Zed would scribble on a few pages here and there.

Thanks Zoey, Zed, and Ella!

And If I Haven't Babbled Enough

Leo at Mommy Tracks was kind enough to interview me recently. And believe it or not, I don't think I sound too idiotic (at least no more idiotic than I usually do). Give it a read if you're interested.

Thanks Leo!

Song of the day: Just A Friend by Biz Markie

Iron Man

Six years ago today, Ella and I exchanged wedding vows. It was a lovely affair and everyone had a good time. Everyone except the members of the bridal party who did not make it to the reception until seventy-five minutes after the wedding ended because the photographer insisted on taking 18,432 pictures.

You know how something always goes wrong at a wedding? Stuff that make people say "One day you'll look back on this and laugh" or "You'll have something memorable to talk about in twenty years."

Just because something is memorable doesn't mean you want to remember it.

Everything was fine until the pastor introduced us to the invitees. "I am honored to introduce you to Mister and Missress…"

Time stopped. I had never heard the term Missress. I still have no idea how to spell it correctly (Missrus? Mizrus? Mistake?). Apparently, it's some old-school Southern word for Missus.

If you watch our wedding video, you can see a strange look come over my face and my head whip back and look at the pastor. But it was nothing compared to the next word that came out of his mouth.

Our last name. Only it wasn't our last name. Sure, it sounded close to our last name, but the first vowel was an a instead of an o. Once again, I looked at the pastor like he was insane.

And one by one, every bridegroom came back to the holding room, shook my hand, and said, "Congratulations, Mr. Halland." Jerks.

But hey! At least we'll have something memorable to talk about in twenty years.

And would you like to know how we spent our anniversary? We tried to have a romantic getaway last weekend, but you know how that turned out. So today, we decided to stay home and take care of Zed who was diagnosed with chicken pox this morning.

Feel free to share any personal wedding-gone-awry stories you may have.

Song of the day: Ballroom Blitz by Sweet

Par For The Course

If you read my last post, you may be wondering, "What kind of ass decides to blog in the middle of a romantic weekend getaway with his wife?" I'll tell you: the kind of ass whose romantic weekend getaway with his wife gets pulled out from under him at the very last minute.

So much for living like a rockstar.

<!-- Begin Backstory -->
My mother is physically unable to keep our kids. She has had both knee and back surgery in the past year. She can keep Zoey and often does. But taking care of Zed requires some heavy lifting, something she cannot do. So we're left with Ella's Mom and Dad.

Ella's sister is a complete fuckup. She's a heavy drug user (prescription, illegal, and non-prescription -- she'll take whatever you're offering), been convicted of shoplifting many times, and is a former prostitute. Ella's parents have custody of her two sons. One is eighteen, the other is twenty-one. 18 is a great kid. 21 inherited his mother's fuckup gene.

21 has a history of drug use and violent outbursts. He's never had a job longer than two weeks. He has shady friends. People have shown up at Ella's parents home in the middle of the night looking for him, drugs, or money. Because of this, we don't really like to spend the night at Ella's folks' home, much less leave our children there without us.

21 recently received his fourth DUI in less than three years. As a result, he was sentenced to fifteen weeks of weekend jail time (he goes to jail on Fridays at 6:00 PM and leaves on Sundays at 6:00 PM). Seems like a pretty weak sentence to me, but that's the legal system for you.

Ella and I knew that if we ever wanted to go somewhere for a weekend, we had to do it while he was serving his sentence.
<!-- End Backstory -->

We got to Ella's folks' house around 9:00 PM Friday evening. The plan was to spend the night there and kiss the kids goodbye at 10:00 AM the next morning.

At 8:10 AM, Ella came into the room to wake me. "Get up and get your shower so we can get going," she said. "Five more minutes," I replied.

At 8:20 AM, Ella came into the room and said, "21's here."

I shot out of bed, "What the hell?"

"He claims they sent him home sick from jail."

"You don't get sent home sick from jail! He's full of it!"

"I know. He probably didn't even go."

He didn't. Our weekend was shot. We piled the kids back into the car and headed home. Maybe we'll try again in another four-and-a-half years.

How was your weekend?

Song of the day: Laid by James

This Must Be How The Non-Paranoid, Non-Obsessive Parents Live

Based on last night's post, I'm sure you could all deduce that I did not win the lottery. Sigh. But guess what? This weekend, Ella and I will be living like rockstars.

Get this: we will be going away overnight without any kids for the first time since we've had kids (that's four and a half years).

Thanks to the assistance of my lovely travel agent, we've got a nice little hotel room lined up and great restaurant reservations. We're also planning on going shopping, catching a movie, watching the Carolina game, and dancing (we've got to pack four and a half years into those thirty short hours).

Have a great weekend!

Song of the day: I Go Crazy by Flesh For Lulu

Two More Things To Be Thankful For

At Least Black Friday Only Comes Once A Year

Ella wanted to go shopping in the wee hours this morning. Since we were at her folks' home, she asked me to go with her. Ordinarily, I (and any other sane man) would say, "NO WAY!" But since someone was shot and killed outside the mall three days ago, I decided to go shopping with her. Why? I've seen my wife's survival instincts, or lack thereof, in action.

A few years ago, we were shopping at a thrift store. We had just loaded our haul into the backseat and were in the process of getting into the car when two cars came racing down the road. The passenger of one car was holding a gun outside his window, firing shots at the other car. I ducked behind my car door. I looked over and saw Ella standing tall, mouth agape, watching the whole thing. "GET THE HELL DOWN!" I screamed. She did. We lived (but I'm sure you guessed that already).

But back to our Black Friday shopping: it was fairly uneventful. There were some long lines at a few stores but for the most part we were able to go in, get what we needed, and get out without too much difficulty. Of course, it helped that my cell phone's alarm didn't go off so we didn't actually get started until 9:00 AM, hours after the crazies had already rummaged through the stores.

Still A Family Of Four

Warning: I'm sharing entirely too much in this section!

My wife's periods are very regular. Two months ago, she went off The Pill and began using The Ring. I had some issues with it, fearing that operator error could lead to a surprise bundle of joy. And if you're a regular reader, you already know my feelings about having more children.

Well guess what? She was two days late this month. Two L-O-N-G days of panic, desperation, fretting, pacing, sweating, cursing, and worrying. Thankfully, for no good reason.

Better late than never, you know?

The Scariest (Or Mushiest, Depending Upon Your Perspective) Halloween Story Ever Told

My apologies if you read the condensed version of this last year.

As I wrote last week, I absolutely love Halloween. In addition to the aforementioned reasons, Halloween holds a special place in my heart due to two momentous occasions.

Eight years ago, Ella and I moved into our very first home on Halloween. We had been living together for four-and-a-half years, moving from apartment to apartment to rental home. Finally, we had scraped together enough money to buy a nice little starter home in a new subdivision.

We moved boxes and furniture into the house all day long. That evening, we sat by the door, waiting for all the cute little Trick-or-Treaters. But since we were only the third house built in that subdivision, we only had two visitors all evening. But we still had fun. IN OUR VERY OWN HOME.

Life was good. Really good.

But we weren't married yet. So the next year, I decided to propose (yes, for those of you doing the math, we had been dating five-and-a-half years at this point). But I didn't want to just take her out to dinner and put a ring in a fortune cookie or something like that. So I decided to propose to her on Halloween.

I had it all worked out in my head: I would take a trick-or-treat bucket, fill it with candy, and hide the ring inside. Pure genius! And semi-romantic, right? I would have our next-door neighbor's two-year-old daughter deliver it to us under the guise that she got "too much candy." Like there is such a thing to a kid.

The only problem? I forgot to tell my neighbor about the plan. I went over there about 7:00 PM on Halloween evening and told him what I wanted them to do. But his daughter had already had her bath and was getting ready for bed. I begged and pleaded with him, and he finally agreed to put her costume back on and come over to our house (I did buy him a six-pack the next day).

I hurried home. Five minutes later the doorbell rang. My neighbor said, "Susie got a lot of candy tonight. We figured you guys might like some." After Ella made a fuss over Susie's Tigger costume, they left and we sat down. Ella said, "Let's see what we got!" She started rummaging through the bucket and found the ring box. She pulled it out and smiled. I opened the box, got down on one knee, and... well, I guess you can figure out what happened next.

Poor Ella. She should've just eaten the candy.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Not Knowing When To Quit

Sometimes I do things to purposely piss of my wife. It's fun.

But when she brings it on herself? That's even more fun.

Tonight, the four of us went out to dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant. We had been sitting in our booth for 3.6 seconds when Ella hissed at me, "Don't say a word."

I had no idea what she was talking about. I looked at her like she was crazy, wondering what I had done wrong. Then I looked around. I noticed an elderly gentleman sitting at the table right next to us. Dude looked exactly like Santa Claus.

I grinned. "Zoey," I whispered.

I looked at Ella. She was sending me one of her patented shut-the-hell-up-if-you-know-what's-good-for-you glares.

Unfazed, I continued to try to get Zoey to notice Santa. "Zoey," I whispered again. "Look at the booth next to us." My daughter, always the brightest bulb in the bunch, looked up.

I received a sharp kick to the shin. There was no turning back at this point. "Zoey! Look over there," I said as I nodded my head in the direction the man was sitting.

Zoey followed my head and saw the man. "SANTA!" she joyfully screamed. The man smiled at her and waved.

"HONEY!" Ella yelled. "What is your deal?"

A few minutes after the man left, I explained to Ella that he wanted the attention. He was making a concentrated effort to look like Santa Claus. Zoey probably made his day.

Didn't matter.

Now if you'll excuse me, the couch is calling.

Monday Bloody Monday

I've been a parent for almost four years now. In that time, I feel I have met every challenge presented to me. True, I may have felt inept at times, but at least I didn't panic. At least I wasn't useless.

Never have I felt that I failed one of my kids.

Until today.

I was in the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dishwasher after lunch, when I heard Zoey cry shriek wail... I really have no way of accurately describing it. It was a sound I had never heard her make. And a sound I hope I never hear again.

I rushed into the living room and found her covered with blood.

Her face, forehead, and right arm had blood all over it. Blood was on her dress. Blood was on the floor. She was frozen, standing in the middle of the living room, screaming.

I was frozen as well. I just stood there, trying to grasp what was happening, what had happened, and what to do. I have seen plenty of blood in my life; I've had lots of broken bones and my share of stitches. But I had never seen that much blood on my daughter.

I just stood there.

Finally, I pulled my head out of my ass and rushed over to comfort her. I took her to the kitchen and washed most of the blood off her body. I was then able to tell that the blood was coming from her forehead. In between her sobs, I was able to discover that she had hit her head on the corner of our entertainment center.

I asked her if she needed to go to the doctor. Of course, she screamed, "NO!" So I took her back to the living room and put her on the couch. I put a washcloth to her forehead. She had a tiny hole in her forehead which, in my mind, looked like a gaping wound that left me wondering how her brain was still inside her skull.

The bleeding had stopped, but I still phoned Ella. "COME HOME NOW!" I screamed. "ZOEY'S HURT!" Ella came home and calmed me Zoey down. "She's ok," Ella told me. "She doesn't even need stitches." I didn't believe her; I had seen all the blood that had come out of Zoey's head. Blood like that requires stitches!

I spent the rest of the afternoon s-t-a-r-i-n-g at poor Zoey. She was fine. She was dancing and playing as usual. But all I could see was her covered in blood.

I watched for signs of dizziness. I looked at the wound again and again, trying to determine if it needed stitches, praying that it didn't reopen.

Finally, after about two hours (actually, it was only ten minutes), I drove to my mom's office. She was once a nurse and assured me that Zoey did not need stitches.

So we came back home. Zed played in my office while Zoey and I spent most of the afternoon in front of the computer, playing games, surfing, and stalking WebMd.

Tonight, she's got a walnut-sized welt in the middle of her forehead. But she'll be okay. As long as her father never has to make a quick decision that may decide her fate.

GHS: 10

And for the two of you that care, I will resume my Top 100 Albums Of All Time tomorrow evening. I promise.

My Wife, My Hero

Note: As I was not present for the following event, I cannot account for its veracity. But Ella assures me what you are about to read is entirely accurate.

Ella rounded up the kids and took them to Target on Sunday afternoon while I worked on a project that has slowly eaten away what little brains I have remaining taken much of my free time lately. She decided to look at the Father's Day cards.

Zoey: First it was Mother's Day.
Ella: Yes.
Zoey: Now it's Father's Day.
Ella: Right.
Zoey: When is Kid's Day?
Unknown Woman Standing A Few Feet From Them: Every day is Kid's Day.
Ella: Ha! That's the truth.

Ella and Zoey turned their attention back to the card selection. Ella picked up one that a button inside which read, "Go ask your Mom!"

Zoey: What does that say?
Ella: Go ask your Mom.
Zoey: Why does it say that?
Ella: It means that Daddy gets to take the day off.
Unknown Woman Standing A Few Feet From Them: Which is also every day.

Now I would love to tell you that Ella turned around, pounced on the woman, and bitchslapped her senseless while the kids cheered her on. But Ella did tell the woman I was a caring, loving stay-at-home dad who seldom received days off as the woman backpedaled, stammered, and apologized.

God, I wish I had been there to witness Ella putting that woman in her place. But of course, had I been present, the following announcement might have been heard over the loudspeaker: "We need all available employees to clean up the headless woman in the greeting card section."

How To Piss Off Ella With One Little Question

Simply ask her, "What did you get Chag for Mother's Day?"

Then step back and watch the sparks fly!

Update: Our next-door neighbor asked her this question. After Ella snapped his neck and devoured his carcass, I foolishly told her that Zoey's preschool teacher asked me the same thing at the drop-off line.

Luckily, I can outrun my wife.

Last Minute Shopping (Is There Any Other Kind?)

Last week, I asked Zoey what she wanted to get Ella for Mother's Day. She thought she was already golden due to the fact she had brought home so many cute crafts from preschool.

No dice, babe.

So what did she want to get her mom?

Flowers? Nope.

Candy? Guess again.

A flashlight. Because nothing says thank you for carrying me for nine months and loving me unconditionally like a flashlight.

I will never figure out how that child's mind works.

Zed, Zoey, and I headed to Target on Saturday morning (Shut up! Life's been way too hectic lately for my taste.). We maneuvered our way to the card section and picked though the remains of the Mother's Day cards with all the other slackers. Next, we headed to the electronics department.

I had threatened to get Ella a copy of Monster Ballads for Mother's Day because even though she claims she hates that type of music and says it's "redneck," I think she secretly jams to this in her car when no one is watching. But we opted for the Grey's Anatomy DVD instead.

And then we went to the camping section to pick up a flashlight. I almost wrote something like You light up my life. Love, Zoey on the package, but wisely decided against it due to the extreme cheese factor.

Quick question for the ladies: how did Patrick Dempsey become a heartthrob? Is he simply part of the George Clooney Theory that states if you put a marginal 80s actor in scrubs, he inexplicably gets elevated to Hunk Status? I need answers.

Spell Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself

My wife is a poor speller. Therefore, Spell Check is her crutch and her best friend. But like so many things in life you trust and love, there comes a time when they eventually let you down, most often when you need them the most.

Oops. Don't know where that came from. Just Reason 4,173 why this site is called Cynical Dad and not Warm And Fuzzy Daddy.

Anyway, Spell Check let her down.

Wouldn't it be great if Spell Check knew what word you're trying to use and tell you if you're using the correct word, like their instead of they're (I actually found a few mistakes on my site the other night while I was checking out my new template on various pages (and did I mention my logo was designed by John & Kristen of Fringelements?))? Yes, in a perfect world, Spell Check would not only check the spelling, but idiot-proof your writing as well.

But this is not a perfect world. Just ask Ella.

See, her best friend from high school is getting remarried soon and Ella is throwing a bridal shower for her. Since Ella's friend already owns most of the things one normally gives young brides and grooms who are just starting out, the bride is asking for money instead (which Ella silently objects to, but one must go along with the bride's wishes). So Ella included the following on the shower invitations she printed and sent out last week:

The bride is registered at [name of store]
Monetary gifts are also appreciated

Only she put the following:

Monitory gifts are also appreciated

Spell Check did not catch the word monitory because it is spelled correctly. If you're like me and have no idea what the word monitory means, the definition is as follows: conveying an admonition or a warning. Now, if there is ever a time when gifts of warnings are appropriate, it's definitely at a bridal shower. But I don't think the bride will appreciate monitory gifts.

Luckily, no one has caught her error (at least no one has mentioned it to her). Yet.

Reader Participation Time

Have you ever done something like this? Placed a word in an important document that had the opposite meaning of your desired word? Please share. It'll make Ella feel better.