Kids Eat Free

My wife calls me at work and says: "Kids eat free at Las Palapas from 5:00PM - 8:00PM. So that is what I'm doing for dinner tonight."

So I reply with: "Kids eat free at home too."

It was like playing wall-ball with a beanbag. It fell flat.

"So do you want us to pick you up and then go eat?"

As exciting as sitting in a restaurant at dinner time with my three kids, her cousin and her two kids, and the restaurant and all their freeloading kids, I decided to let me wife take the brunt of this one.

"No thanks. just bring me something."

"Ok, we'll pick you up when we're finished."

The good, I get to have a usually good mexican food dinner. The bad, since she took them to dinner, I'll not be able to eat until 11:30 tonight on account I'll have the clean up.

Ironically, I would have had to deal with both the dinner and cleanup if I would have chosen to go with them. Was this a selfish choice. Yes. But I also know that I didn't want to keep my pregnant wife and hungry kids waiting for me to get out of work. Because who knows what would have happened if I was 2 minutes late coming out the door?

Plus, KIDS EAT FREE AT HOME TOO!!!!

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if you are looking for places in your area where kids can eat free, check out this page:
http://www.mykidseatfree.com/

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My Baby is an Atari Penguin!!!

On Father's Day, we made it known to the world that my wife is pregnant with our FIFTH child. She sent me the photo below. With me pretty much having an honorary tech degree in ultrasound reading, I knew right away what my baby was.

An Atari penguin from the game Pengo. Don't believe me, compare for yourselves.






















Sure, my baby hasn't developed arm, foot and head movement as well as the Raster Graphic Sno-Bee avoiding Pengo.
The hands and feet are visible in their proper locations on the ultrasound. But the most obvious similarity is the presense of an apparant beak on the baby photo.


Some may say that it looks like a Gummie Bear.
But I say that those people did not enjoy Atari Video Games as a kid and have no imagination.


What would have been even cooler, is if the ultrasound looked like these guys:

Take care my friends and have a great weekend...




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My Michael Jackson Post

Earlier today co-workers mentioned that Michael Jackson "The King of Pop" had died. There will no doubt be memorials that could rivals Elvis' death 30 years ago. We will see hours of his videos this weekend if we watched VH1. Possibly even a South Park parody.

At first I thought, while sad and tragic, this death (like the death of Farrah Fawcett as well) will merely solicit a "Wow!" from me. No soul searching or personal reflection would result from it.

As I was reading the first reports of AOL late this afternoon, I realized that this had some form of effect on me. When I was a kid [pre-teen], I enjoyed listening to Michael Jackson (circa-1983).

As a kid, I remember having Prince's Purple Rain tape. My brother got the Michael Jackson tape. I always coveted his tape. I recall going to a friend's apartment in our complex and we both danced in front of his parents to Beat It! Honestly he had all the moves [black] and I just tried to mimic his natural ability to little avail.

My father had the Thriller album. Which I would lay on the floor and read the lyrics while the songs were playing. One that always sticks out in my head is the effort with Paul McCartney This Girl is Mine. Next to the lyrics were drawings of Michael and Paul tugging on a woman enforcing their God given man right to claim any woman they please.



I had the "Yellow Sweater Vest" poster on my wall.

I got a pair of parachute pants that I wore once. When I walked, you could hear me coming from three blocks away. When I realised how embarrassing they were to wear, I never wore them again. Thank God for my growth spurt in 5th grade. I did not feel so bad that my grandma had probably spent 70 bucks on them.


She probably spent 120 bucks on the Red Zipper Jacket that I wore out in public just until the bus pulled up to bus stop. I realized that I looked like a dork wearing parachute pants and a red zipper jacket. I then proceeded to trade my brother for his jacket right before we got on the bus. He was in second grade, who cares what second graders think about you.


I enjoyed his album in the early 90's (which I only borrow from my friend Ino). I was confused and disappointed with "Moonwalker." With the last positive memory about him was the video Scream with his sister Janet.

Other than that, I relegated him to headlines. Would make the jokes and laugh at what he was doing next. I now wonder if there is going to be a moratorium on the Michael Jackson jokes for a while.


Regardless of what happened in the headlines and in the courts since his fall from grace. It is sad that he is now gone. His kids, even though they wear Spider-Man masks when they go out, no longer have a father. I don't know how much he was involved in their lives or if he made the right choices for them, but it's sad none the less.

I pray that he made right with God before his death. I'd hate to see all the talent that he had be wasted even in the afterlife.

Shamone!!

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What do Torpedos, Suppositories and Wheelchairs have in common?

It's just another Friday in my life!!


A few months ago, it was decided that my three-something daughter was going to have her tonsils and adenoids removed. Those enlarged body parts tend to contribute to ear infections, difficulty breathing through your nose and ceasing to breathe while sleeping. This past Friday was the big day. I was off from work and the other kids were with their grandma I think. There were a lot of rules prior to leaving in the morning. One was, nothing to eat after 1AM. The other, nothing to drink after 5:30AM for a 9:30AM surgery.


Here's a chronicle of that day.


6:00AM: Woke up 45 minutes later than planned. Now the girl had a forced fast of dehydration the entire morning thanks to her parents [read father].


7:30AM: Somehow it takes 90 minutes for three people to take a shower and get dressed. My wife and I do not eat or drink anything either because our daughter isn't allowed too. I use this same type of empathy when my wife is pregnant, when she wants an Oreo Cookie Blizzard at 8:30 in the evening, I eat one too. My daughter dresses like any beautiful princess does on her way to invasive outpatient surgery. Her white church sandals, a Disney princess dress, a long sleeve pajama top and a hoodie. She completes this ensemble by accessorizing with a pink felt Easter bag and a very very loved [read frumpy] Care Bear. We get in the car and back out the drive-way.


7:32AM: I get back in the car because we [read I] did not get my daughter's cup.


7:34AM: I get back in the car because the cup we [read I] got has a straw and it would probably hurt if she drank. Plus it was not her Dora the Explorer cup.


7:36AM: I get back in the car because we [read I] got the WRONG Dora the Explorer Cup.


8:50AM: The girl plays in the toy area not knowing what events are to unfold in the next half hour with a boy who seemingly is aware of his similar fate. When his name is called he takes the Lego's in the toy area and builds Panic Room for himself.


9:25AM: We're in the, uh.. I guess you call it "prep area". She gets in her gown, some coloring pages, and a cup of crayons with three greens, a purple and two yellows. Seriously?!?! They also give her some medicine that makes her "feel no pain". Her depth perception is the first thing to go as she tries to hand me something and she slaps me in the face. She finds this to be funniest thing she's ever done, then commits to doing it a few more times before I break out the video option on my phone. Her antics are not nearly as funny or hit worthy as David goes to the Dentist, but it's funny to watch her laugh as she tries to keep her head up as it is getting heavier by the second. (after posting edit: I'm having trouble getting the video uploaded because my cell phone SUCKS and I'm changing it the second that T-Mobile won't screw me over)


9:50AM: She's been carted back to the OR and we go back to the waiting room. I'm watching FOX News as The Hot Wife brings up breakfast. I'm enthralled in the story about a woman who has sued her husband who left her after 50 years of marriage for a woman 30 years younger. She was awarded $500,000 bucks for his indiscretions. Unknowingly to me, The Hot Wife was calling me across the waiting room requesting help. Apparently she dropped one of the [read mine] egg sangwiches and I was not paying attention to her cries for help in the clean up [of my egg sangwich].


10:10AM: The doctor came to the waiting room and said the surgery went well. We head back to recovery area as the girl is coming out of anesthesia. She's not taking it well. Her reaction compares to that of Wolverine when he comes out of the adamantium bonding process.



She must have taken out a couple of nurses and an intern because her recovery nurse was not very pleasant and obviously held a grudge because of her clawed up compatriots conditions were worsening. Her bedside demeanor was utter crap. The Hot Wife got on to her for the way she was talking to my daughter. I was excited because I was no longer the focus of her annoyance from the egg sangwich debacle.


11:10AM: I hold my daughter as we are pushed out of the Surgery Center in a wheelchair. I'm excited again because this is my very first wheelchair ride in my near 35 years of existence. I feel like Professor X from X-Men except with hair and a more limited mind control ability. Which only consists of making the elevator doors open and close after the nurse pushes the button.


12:30PM: We've been home and I need to go pick up the medication. For some strange reason, we feel it's okay for my post-surgery daughter go with me to pick up the meds. I put her in a basket and go to the pick-up counter. The pharmacy tech tells me that one of the meds will cause drowsiness and I retort with a "so she won't be able to drive?" Right when I say this, I hear a HACK from my daughter. I turn around and she just vomited all over herself. The Tech is nice enough to respond to my corny joke oblivious to my daughters heaving all over his store.

12:45PM: I rush back home with the girl, tell The Hot Wife and it's time to give the anti-nausea medication. Finagrin. Finagrin comes in a couple forms, one is pills. The problem with the pill form is that if you are throwing chunks, how are you going to keep it down? So that is why this other form was prescribed to us.


I'll take Suppository Form for 600, Alex!

Actually, I do not know of anyone that will voluntarily take this form, but it had to be. With a lot of restraining from The Hot Wife and her mother, I got to know my daughter in a form that will never be spoken between us for as long as we both shall live.


1:00PM: Everyone is tired. Everyone that is allowed to eat is hungry. So I talk my wife into a sangwich from Quiznos. Since I have a big family, I hate spending federal reserve amounts of money at fast food places. So I suggested the $4 Torpedo Sangwich. It's my current sangwich of choice. But everytime I go get a sangwich, I think of this commercial. It's really creepy.



2:00PM: I get home from picking up a couple get well gifts as well. The Hot Wife is asleep as well as everyone else. I enjoy my Torpedo, not like the oven in that commercial does. When my wife finally eats hers, she's not so impressed. Maybe it's because I dropped hers on the floor this time.


The rest of day played out like one would expect. The days that have followed have been back and forth. The Girl gets her popsicles and ice cream. She wants her medication when it's not time for it. So I have to melt popsicles and give her the liquid. She thinks that it's medicine and she's ok for a bit. She's usually a tough trooper, but this procedure has pushed her to her limits. I feel bad, because I've never had mine taken out. I've never had the number of procedures that my children have had to have in their short lives.


This is one of those things that I wish that I could have some sort of Daddy power that I could take away their pain and make it my own. Just so they won't have to have it.



But I'm not so sure about the suppository.


Take care now, bye bye then.

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My Economic Stimulus Request - Drying Time

We've all been bombarded with information and mis-information about the Stimulus Package put together by Congress and the President. We're told it is to help the economy. From our local organizations up to our national. It's in line to help us be more environmental friendly, conservative, better infrastruture, etc.Well, I figured I want a piece of the pie, but I don't think there is any pie left for me. So, I'm asking our leaders to bake a new pie.



Dear President Obama,

Can we please have a new stimulus plan to help develop a clothes dryer that dries in the same amount of time as it takes my washer to wash the clothes.

This 20 minute wash time and 70 minute dry time just doesn't work into my weekend schedule. My damp clothes should not have to sit in the washer for 50 plus minutes. They become subject to possible mildew assimilation.

The hot dog wieners and buns seemed to work it out on their end. No longer do we worry about 10 wieners and 8 buns. If they can come to an agreement, I'm sure we can do something about this.

Plus this will help the environment. Less electricity used during drying time. Less mildew stank from my clothes and less stank from my dirty clothes piles will not be a cause for global warming.

See what you can do.

Regards.
Eric the Bolton.

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I Am The Outbreak Monkey!


Today I was asked. "Do your kids have diarrhea?" by a co-worker. And I said, they did, but have gotten over it. Well that was enough to convict me of being a carrier of the runny poop virus and infecting the office.



Call the WHO. The World Health Organization, not the band.


Apparantly, the runny poop virus jumped from my kids onto me. It managed to survive the cleaning of my hands with the baby wipes. It also managed to avoid being cleansed by the numerous showers between the last time they had it and today.


It attached itself to the clothes I was wearing, jumped off those clothes and into a co-workers food where she ate it.


I know this because she told me that she messed herself and had to go get a new pair of underpants from Wal-Mart.


All I have to say to that is...


ooooh ooooh..... ahhh ahhhhh!!


Be sure to wash your hands after this blog.



Take care now, bye bye then...

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If My Daughter Had A MySpace...


What if my daughter in her mid-three's had a MySpace page? One, I would monitor it every second of the day to make sure no punk pre-school boys were talking to her. And two, I would think that this would be her profile pic.
It's one of those, "I know there's a camera, but I'm going to ignore the camera as I am most obviously taking the photo of myself" poses.
I actually took this photo with my cell phone with camera option. I try not to call it a camera phone, because the primary reason for the device is not a camera, it's a phone. But this was during my black and white phase. Picaso had his blue one. I have my B&W. It lasted about 20 minutes.
But I love how different black and white pictures bring out ones character more than their colored dopplegangers. The hair in the eyes represent the sneakyness she has. The slight smile lets you know that she knows whats she's doing and loves to have fun.
I have a few others but this is my favorite I think.
Take care now, bye bye then.

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