Here's Something They Don't Mention/This is a little Gross

The kids have colds.  The other night the Pumpkin Man woke on and off due to the coughing up of swallowed mucous.  During the evening, I needed to go to the bathroom.  Pretty badly.  Taco Bell. (and for regular readers, they have the new Fresco Menu.  Bean Burrito: 8 grams of fat 0 grams of cholesterol, 1 million grams of the best news I've ever received.  I said, "the best," birth of my children.  Get used to it.)

As I started up the stairs, the P-Man launched into a fairly serious coughing and crying fit.  I detoured into his room and scooped him up.  Cut to . . . .

There I am, in the dark, on the shitter, holding a sick baby during a Taco Bell emergency.  Did not see this sort of thing coming.  But I've done it with both of them now.  My wife says it's something that women are more aware of than men.  I don't know.  I do know he didn't seem to mind too much.  There was one quick gagging coughing fit near the end, but I'm pretty sure that was just the cold.

I also know I should be able to use this moment as ammunition when they reach their teen years.  Filing it all away.

****************************

In other news, a thirteen year old boy has climbed Mt. Everest, making him the youngest person ever to reach the summit.  Sorry Mt. Everest.  You're now officially lame.   When someone whose life goals still include "seeing boobs" and "touching boobs" and "sneaking into that R movie that has all the boobs," has climbed Mt.  Everest, I think the rest of us can safely scratch it off our bucket lists.   The little boy called home to his tearful mother after reaching the summit.  She wasn't there because he climbed the mountain with his dad and his dad's girlfriend.  I picture:

"Yes son you did it.  You reached the summit.  You did it because you challenged yourself. Just remember son, (unconsciously gives girlfriend one-armed hug) keep challenging yourself, because there are always new mountains to climb.  Better mountains,  Mountains that understand you.  Mountains that don't divorce you just because you come home late one night--a tiny bit drunk-- with another mountain on your arm and suggest that you all climb each other together.   Where was I?  Oh yeah.  Son, in conclusion, don't ever get married."

Busy week this week folks.  May be quiet in this space til friday.  If so, have good weeks and I'll miss you all.

Homemaker Man

One Cheeseball Removed From Death

I'm dieting.  Or should I say I'm, "making a major lifestyle change."  No, I shouldn't because then I'd sound like a fuck face, but it is essentially true.  I went to the doctor for allergy meds and came back with high cholesterol.  Higher than a hippie at Burning Man.  Higher than a frat boy at a Dave Matthews concert. It had to be calculated by a team consisting of NASA and a robot Val Kilmer circa Real Genius.  It was pretty high.

Let me put it this way:  If you were to look at a cross section of one of my veins right now, it'd look like this

Pic lifted from www.tacobell.com

Yup.  My vascular system is a Beefy 5 Layer Burrito.  I have a hidden layer of nacho cheese oozing through my arteries.

No offense to Taco bell.  It's been the gorging of myself on many of their fine products throughout the years that has helped me to reach this yellow, waxy, greasy, pinnacle.  I was 16 years old when that love affair started.  I spent the summer with a daily allotment of 5 bucks.   That 5 bucks had to buy me train fare to and from and lunch.  I was always full after lunch.  I fell head over heels in love.  Thanks Taco Bell.  You murderous bitch.  I hate you now.  Call me?

Speaking of murderous bitches, I also have a genetic proclivity to high cholesterol.  My maternal grandfather died of heart disease and diabetes and when they did the autopsy, they found a wheel of cheese where his heart should've been.  Smoked Gouda.  The ol' man had taste.  And some truly shitty genes.  Nice one, maternal family.

I've had to change my diet fairly drastically.  The worst part is, I know how to eat healthy.  My wife had gestational diabetes and I did the diet with her and I lost weight and felt really good.   It's just that ever since the Pumpkin man was born, I've pretty much been like, "What's that?  A fried cheese pig?  Dibs!"

And I don't even like pork.   It's the cheese.  Its possible I'd eat a dick if the words "fried cheese" came first.  Not definite, but possible.

Also, I have to exercise.  1/2 hour of an activity akin to jogging at least thrice (fuck face alert!) a week.

I think I'll probably end up getting a bicycle and riding it off a cliff.  I'm kidding of course.  I can't ride a bike.

And I have to take anti-cholesterol pills.  I'm 62 at 37.

So that's where that's all at.

As far as Mother's Day goes well . . . The Peanut is still suffering the lingering effects of the stomach flu and her brother decided to join the party.  Because he's thoughtful, he has thus (F.F.A. #2!) far restricted all explosive protein ejections to the rear exit.

And the poor mommy herself starting feeling unwell half way through the day.  Sorry honey.  Even sick you are the ass-kicking-est mommy ever.

Alright, that's it happy Mom's day night/ Monday morning everybody.

In good health,

Homemaker Man