First there was a Man. Then a Woman. Then in quick succession, two cats, a confused dog beast, and two kids. I stay at home with them. I'm the Man

Sunday, December 27, 2009

My Sunday morning/Haiku sunday.

It's dark out still.  The kids slept for crap.  Though the Peanut is sleeping now.  So sweetly.  I want to pinch her.  I leave.  It's raining.  The wind, or something else, knocked the trash all over the place.  I stop to pick it up.  It's wet.  Sticky.

Start my walk to work.  I forgot my wallet.  Fuck.

Re-start my walk to work.  Raining.  Dark.

Arrive.  Unlock the doors.  Turn off the alarm.  Punch in.  Turn on the lights.

I go to set-up the Zamboni.  We eye each other warily.

"Whoa, easy girl.  Easy.  Sugar cube?  Would you like a sugar cube?  There now."  I stroke her gently.  "About last time ,  I uh, I just wanted to . . . what's that?  Just leave it alone?  You're probably right."

Check the compressor.  The giant refrigerator unit that keeps the ice frozen.  There are lots of lights and numbers.  None of them say Emergency or Runaway or Say Goodbye to Your Ass.  So I guess it's cool.

Put the nets on the ice. It's cold.  They're heavy.  Can't close the giant doors to the rink.  Ice under the rubber floor mat making it buckle.  Hold on.  Kick it.  Kick it!  Stomp it.  Swear at it.  Blame the night guy.  Kneel down and punch it.  Push it.  Swear at it.  KICKITKICKIT!  Fucking night guy.  Go get hot water hose.  Thaw ice.  Close doors.

Sit at desk.  Eat donut.  Drink coffee.

Sleepy, stuffy-nosed parents shuffle in after their kids.

It's cold.  I'm tired.  What do I have to do right now and what can I ignore until later?  I ignore everything.  Drink coffee.  My wife calls.  The Peanut slept until almost 7.  The Peanut is an asshole.

Not really.  The Peanut is perfect.  Like her brother.


As my wife mentions in her great Christmas wrap-up post , the Santa hate ( I had to get a little rough with him  ) the Peanut exhibited on Christmas eve continued Christmas morning.  When my wife told her Santa had come, she said, "No Santa.  No.  This is daddy's pink house.  Not Santa's."

Take that Santa.  You bitch.  Whose house is this?  It's Daddy's house.  What-what?!


The lobby empties
Parents trudge to cold bleachers
can I sneak a nap?


  1. "The peanut is an asshole"

    BWAA HAA HAAAHAAAAA. That's freaking hilarious!

    I have SO thought that before.

  2. That reminds me of Susie last year - after a month of hearing from all of us that Santa was coming, I heard her say softly, "Santa not get me."

    Who knew it seemed so threatening? But then, if you really listen to some of those songs..."You better watch out, you better not cry"...hmmm....

  3. My 1 and 3 year olds were completely Santa- phobic this year (I bet there is a real word for that)except for the presents, they were cool with those.

    My one year old sleeps for crap every night. She wakes me up at least twice an hour, and then in the morning, she rushes out of bed, all big smiles and cuteness, eager to greet the day, while I dab cover up on the black bags under my eyes, so as not to scare myself every time I walk past a reflective surface.


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