Sunday, February 28, 2010

A Cog in the Machine

In 17 years of marriage there have been two developments that are crystal clear.

One? I will pick up the latest mutant virus within 3 days of it's existence or just by walking to the mailbox. It'll take me at least 2 weeks to get over it, I'll whine and moan and complain the entire time, and will need an antibiotic twice a year. Guaranteed.

Two? Ange is made of teflon; she never gets sick, has spent approximately 4 days in bed over these 17 years (that includes birthing 3 kids), and is without a doubt the glue that holds our happy little home filled with nitwits, hormonal pre-teen girls, and serial urinators together.

So you'll forgive me for the brief moment of sheer blind panic I had at about 8:15 tonight, with Trot and Rakes stuffing their faces with M & M's and popcorn while I reclined on the couch, when she out of the blue said "I'm aching, I've got the chills, and I'm going to bed."

All I could think was "Trot's hopped up on chocolate, Rakes is flicking corn kernels across the room, Ciera has got a serious case of the giggle fits and nobody has brushed, combed, read, prayed, diapered up or been put in their nightly straight jacket yet and it's all up to me."

I'm proud to report everyone is present and accounted for and asleep (or at least locked in their room. Not that I'd do that.) and all is quiet. Everyone got their medicine, cups of water, and in Trot's case the industrial rubber sheets are tucked in and covered up.

Praying for a 7 a.m. wake up call is probably a little over the top, right?

Saturday, February 27, 2010


So I find myself the only one awake at 10:30 on a Saturday night.

No baseball yet so I'm flipping around and come across "Armageddon" on FX; a perfect movie for me. Not really deep but tugs at your heart strings, especially when Bruce shoves Ben back in the the tube to die with the nuke. Or when that dude from "Prison Break" goes up to Steven Tyler's daughter and does the "I'd like to shake the hand of the daughter of the bravest man I've ever known" bit at the end. And when you throw your brain out of the equation when it comes to a bunch of oil drillers flying into space to blow up an asteroid and all that, it's actually a pretty entertaining movie.

With without a doubt the most oddball casting of any movie made in the last 50 years.

Think about it; in ONE movie you've got Bruce Willis, Ben Afflack, Owen Wilson, Billy Bob Thorton, Liv Tyler, that crazy guy who always plays a Russian, the assistant coach from "Remember the Titans", Steve Buschemi, the guy from "The Green Mile" and that one overweight dude from every movie you can remember.

It's Hollywoodoverthetopness at it's finest.

So, you'd think that an industry that would green light this would jump all over the real life adventures of a guy just trying to keep it all together while his kids use the world as their personal latrine would get SOME love, right?

No luck so far, but I'm thinking of hiring the publicist for "Jersey Shore".

If he can make THAT train wreck happen surely he can see the merits of my life.


Friday, February 26, 2010

Almost time to check out the Gun Show

Health Care Reform.

Republicans blasting Democrats and Democrats blasting Republicans.

An Earthquake in Japan.

That nutjob in Iran and his nukes and Israeli commandos taking out some muckity muck from Hamas in Saudi Arabia of all places.

The USA is cleaning house and taking names at the Winter Olympics and Ryan Seacrest unfortunately still has his gig on AI.

ALL of this is going on, Trot has turned into Coco the Gorilla, Rakes is getting N's on his writing at school and some dink asked Ciera to be his girlfriend the other day.

You'd think I'd be plotting my escape to some deserted Island where me and my family could live out our days in peace and quiet, away from all the clutter the world provides everyday.

And we would, except for 2 things.

One? Opening Day is a little over a month away; it's my light at the end of the tunnel, my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and my visit to the shrink all rolled into one.

Two? The feeling in the pit of my stomach that Dustin Pedroia is poised to win his second MVP award in 3 years; you heard it here first.

2010 is gonna be The Year of the Munchkin.

95 mph coming in and 195 mph going out.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Just in Time, Baseball Arrives

*Image courtesy of the Boston Globe*

To the naked eye this picture may look like a bunch of dudes with really bad timing trying go perform some choreographed number for the Grammys. Buccholz is swing his arms while the guy behind him looks like he's trying to avoid stepping in a cow patty and I think that's Pedie on the back row adjusting his cup.

Doesn't matter. To me? It's pure, unadulterated art.

Spring Training has started, baseball is here, and I can forget about Trot turning the downstairs bathroom into his own personal art studio.

At least for a little while.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

A Flip of the Finger is All it Takes.


I don't know how I blocked it out; it wasn't until a phone call from Jr and his seemingly innocent "So, has Trot peed anywhere new lately?" that it all came painfully crashing back to me. I sort of understand now how some kid whose Dad woke him up back in 2003 to watch the Red Sox finally beat the Yankees only to watch a short while later the sickening scene of Aaron F*****g Boone skipping around the bases while Tim Wakefield left the mound a beaten man and woke up the next morning with no memory of it ever happening.

Sort of like my first real date at the age of 16 can't remember my name, yet I can't watch "Karate Kid II" without bursting into tears. It really is amazing how the human mind works; she has no idea who I am some 24 years later and I can't even utter the name Peter Cetera without turning into Red Foxx, circa 1972.

As my breathing grew shallow and the ringing in my ears grew louder after Rich asked his question, it all came back to me like some bad episode of "Kojak" where the guy with amnesia slowly put it together.

I remembered Ciera, in a eerily calm voice saying "Dad? You may want to see this.", Trot running behind the sofa and Rakes yelling "CAN I SEE IT?" while I walked to the bathroom door in a fog. There, right before my eyes, was the evidence in full, disgusting display.

My little prince of a boy had turned into some deranged version of a chimpanzee and had spread his poop all over the bathroom wall.

I don't know why he did it or when it happened or even if he knew what he'd done; I was too busy trying not to throw up, pass out, or beat his tail senseless to ask those kind of questions. Thankfully I'm married to a rock who immediately took charge, told me to sack up, and proceeded to interrogate that child in a manner that would make Dennis Franz green with envy.

I've taken three things from this latest incident.

One? We may need professional help with this one.

Two? I'm starting to think he is an alien sent here to drive us all crazy one by one.

Three? Rich is right; I'm a heart attack looking for an ER to land in.

Oh yeah; Number Four?

I'm sending a manuscript to Oliver Stone as we speak.

'Cause he's the only person I can think of that will believe any of this is possible.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Adventures of Rakes: Episode 7

I've been reading to all three of my kids ever since they came home from the hospital, usually 3 books a night. I realize that when they were drooling on my hands or asleep at the time it really wasn't doing anything but I still did it. Not really sure why, just that I've always loved to read and somewhere in the back of my mind this would foster the same love of books in them.

So far it's worked with Ciera; girl will read at least 2 books a week and usually has about 5 different ones going at once. Trot likes a good book but give him the choice of Spongebob on tv or reading and he's taking the weird yellow sponge every time.

Rakes, on the other hand, loves books. So much so that he gets ticked if we DON'T read at night so the reading incentive lists he got when he started kindergarten was our personal Mt. Olympus. They got 4 reading lists, one due each quarter. We had all 4 knocked out by November, but we kept reading.

Last week he got a bonus list; if we finished it by March 15th he got a prize, which turned out to be a free ticket to an Elon University baseball game on the 21st of March. Did I mention their field is practically in my backyard?

Tonight, when we had our "So, what did you do at school today and recess doesn't count?" talk, I asked him did his teacher say anything about him finishing his bonus list so soon.

"Dad, she said "Let's give Rakes a hand, they all clapped, and me and you get to go to a BALL GAME!"

Considering I'm still expecting him to head the Gambino Family someday?

Today was a good day.

Monday, February 22, 2010

So sayeth The Large Father


This makes me smile.

Papi holding court over newcomers Adrian Beltre and Bill Hall while Pedie looks like he's ready to try out for the JV team and Youk ponders his next victim.


Iz here.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

You can't see the horns, right?

Today was the third Sunday of the month. Which in and of itself isn't that special except for the fact I teach the 2-4 year olds at church on the third Sunday of the month.

Don't get me wrong; I love kids, especially that age group. But the monkey in the wrench is Trot, who is ALSO in that class.

Calling Trot a handful is like comparing a land mine to a firecracker and when you throw in the fact it's Dad and not another teacher you just add a layer to the degree of difficulty.

Rounding out the trifecta? It's cold and flu season and 5 out of the 7 I had this morning had a science experiment growing in their nose and trying to escape as often as possible. One of the remaining 2 is new to church and spent the entire time crying like they'd never see their Mom again, and the other one? Trot. Yelling and hollering "Jesus walked on the water!" at the top of his lungs while hip checking a little girl named Grace into the wall and repeatedly taking away a horse from a kid named Alex.

Mind you, I'm at church and don't really want the other kids telling their parents that Mr. Ted threatened to "beat Trot's tail" so I just kept asking myself why did I take the chance of having a stroke every month to do this?

About the time I was ready to handcuff Trot to the drain pipe under the sink (knowing him he'd go all Jack Bauer on me and I'd wake up in the hospital with a battery cable stuck to my chest) this little fella named Peyton came up to me, hugged my neck, and said "I like it when you're the teacher".

Just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in.

It also helps knowing that Trot is moving up to the next class in about 3 weeks.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Hope Springs Eternal

Yes, they just got done doing the equivalent of having a catch.

Yes, Lackey and Lester both look a little bizarre smiling.

And yes, it's February; but two things about this picture make me giddy.

One? It's baseball, albeit Spring Training; that only means we're one day closer to Opening Day and the regular season and I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to get here.

Two? It's THE FIRST DAY and Beckett looks like his dog died, he's got a case of the bends, and he's ready to curse out a nun.

Josh Beckett with a burr up his saddle and in a contract year?

Good for the Sox and REALLY bad for the rest of the American League.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

When One Dream Ends Another Begins.

Tonight, while watching "Survivor: Hero's and Villains" with the kids, I had an epiphany.

(And yes. I had to look it up. Sue me.)

Much to my ego's dismay, I realized I could never, and I mean EVER, be on Survivor. I know this doesn't come as much of a shock to those that know me, considering I can't use the bathroom unless I'm at home and I realize I'd go into crack addict like withdrawls if I was away from my kids and wife for more than a week. (And that isn't even getting to the real elephant in the room; the Internet and television. This is reason #5,699 that I wasn't born in the 19th century.)

My moment of clarity came when I saw Boston Rob, after passing out and being diagnosed with the flu apparently willing his team to victory in the Immunity challenge while I sat on my couch covered in a blanket with nothing more than a common head cold.

This wasn't as bad as coming to the realization in the 7th grade that my career as an NBA center or a MLB short stop wasn't happening, but it was close. I had visions of grandeur of winning a million dollars and reading the Top Ten List on Letterman one day, but like any other impossible dream I realize it ain't happening.

However, look for me and Jr in an Amazing Race coming to you soon; can you imagine? Two guys who couldn't get on most of the rides at Disney World traveling the Globe with nothing more than a back pack, the clothes on their backs, and in Jr's case a foul mouth and in mine a patience level usually seen in the everyday 3 year old?

Throw in the fact I HATE to fly, Jr's seemingly innate ability to annoy anyone he comes in contact with, and the small matter of me needing help to negotiate the rather easy Boston public transportation system and you've got a walking disaster waiting to happen.

CBS should love us.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

It's All Gonna Be Alright

When it comes to my two boys, everyday is Saturday and every day occurrences that appear dull and boring to us normal people turn into a combination of Mardis Gras and Christmas. Don't believe me? The following happened approximately 41 minutes ago.

Due to the fact I've apparently contracted the worlds longest running sinus infection/ head cold I found myself at the kitchen sink using a Netty Pot.(now, if you've never experienced a Netty pot you're missing one of life's grossest, yet most effective treatments of a cold. 1 plastic tea pitcher, 1 pack of saline solution and 2 nostrils and you're partying like it's 1999.)

Sitting IN THE SINK next to me is Trot, gleefully giving a play by play of each pour of the solution to Rakes, the latter reclined on the couch next to his Mom giving a play by play account of him, his friend Ben, and why both of them got in trouble for A. Talking in line, B. Talking at lunch, and C. poking themselves with a pencil. I'm ignoring the fact that I'm pretty sure stabbing yourself with a pencil at the age of 6 is probably border line psycho and telling myself it's just a phase.

Trot sounded like Al Michaels yelling "Do you believe in Miracles!?!?!?" while Rakes was stuttering and stammering like Mel Tillis in "Cannonball Run" while Ange is in stitches, I'm trying not to laugh and keep the solution coming out my nose and not down my throat while Ciera is having a giggle fit in the chair.

We all may be headed to a soft padded room, but hey?

At least we'll go laughing, right?

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

A Light at the End of the Tunnel

The Commander is at Spring Training.

In a contract year.

I'm absolutely giddy with the thoughts of Derek Jeter getting drilled with a 95 mph fastball, a complete game, 4 hit shutout, and another "FYYO!" moment sometime over the next 8 months.

Like some deranged human version of Phil the Beaver or whatever he is, I saw this picture, emerged from my hole in the ground and declared to the world at large..........




(Tears up Military School enrollment forms for Rakes and Trot for the 3rd straight year.)

Monday, February 15, 2010

The Twelve Destructions of Trot

Thanks to a wireless computer mouse covered in duct tape I've now got that song I've always wanted to write finished. With apologies to whomever it was that wrote "The Twelve Day's of Christmas" I give you the following:


12 plastic dinosaurs

11 nerf footballs

10 shattered psyches of Sunday School Teachers

9 first reader books

8 pairs of shoes

7 careers of future teachers

6 puppies potty training


4 Christmas Ornaments

3 broken Wii remotes

2 clinically insane parents


And yet he looks so innocent asleep.

Back to work tomorrow and with it? The return of what's left of my sanity.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Luckily, I'll never forget Valentine's Day

18 years ago today I asked possibly the sanest thing I've ever done, before or since.

I asked Ange to marry me and for some weird reason? She said yes.

Best thing I've ever done, as I'm fairly certain I'd be living under a bridge somewhere in a box with a guy named Bert and mugging little old ladies for eating money.

All she's done in 18 years is make me the luckiest man alive, give me three wonderful children, and put up with more idiotic comments than most women hear in a lifetime.

So while I may have been a romantic fool for proposing on Valentine's Day I also set the bar ridiculously high; how do you flipping top a proposal?

Maybe the stress of thinking about it made me sick this year; feeling better but I never really knew your earlobe could ache.

Who knew?

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Sick. Again.

My immune system is apparently comprised of Popsicle sticks, toilet paper, and a rubber band.

'Cause here it's another Saturday night and I've got a fever, the chills, feel like I'm walking in quicksand and just short of begging to be taken out of my misery.

I'm gonna blame the freezing temperatures, high wind, and snow we've had over the last 5 days.

That or that suspicious looking character with the "Black Sabbath" t-shirt and sandals that I waited on today.

Or the three walking petri dishes that live in my house and bring home more germs than an average public telephone every flipping day.

It's really a toss up.

Friday, February 12, 2010

I wonder if I can get a bulk discount on antacids for the next decade?

So Ciera went to her first Middle School dance tonight.

I had no idea I could freak out that much in a three hour time span, but I surprised myself. She's currently downstairs going over every detail with her Mom, who is for some weird reason excited about this latest development. I bear hugged her when she came in the front door, asked her if she danced with any boys, got the standard "Daaaaad. NO.", decided to believe her rather than explore the issue further, and headed upstairs.

Where I've spent the last 45 minutes imagining every possible covert op for Rakes and Trot over the next 6 years my feeble brain could come up with and pricing night vision goggles and explosive devices that look like common household objects on the Internet. I've even considered buying a subscription to "Soldier of Fortune" magazine for the boys; they like to look at guns, they are fairly well coordinated, and Rakes has got a pretty hot arm for a 6 year old that weighs less than 40 lbs.

Give me 6 months and a Rambo marathon for inspiration and I'm pretty sure I can ensure she'll remain dateless for the rest of her public school career.

Now, if I can figure out a way to get Rakes to graduate High School at the age of 13 so he can accompany her to college I'll have my master plan completed.

Only problem is he's more like Hank the Tank than Doogie Howser. I've got 6 years though; the Red Sox won the World Series twice in 4 years.

ANYTHING can happen.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I betcha he has a dog named Snot one day.

Remember that moment during "Christmas Vacation" when Clark, Cousin Eddie and the kids are going sledding and Clark asks Eddie if he wants some of the silicon spray on his sled, only to have Eddie decline due to the metal plate in his head?

I think Trot may well be Cousin Eddie, minus the cigars and the leisure suits. However, he's only 3 so give him time.

While playing "Monster" with the kids tonight, which consists of me hiding until they find me and then tickling them until some says "STOP" or pees themselves, whichever happens first, Trot's forehead met the side of MY head which resulted in me seeing stars and sporting a goose egg and Trot uttering one minor grunt and then promptly asking me if we could play again.

In all seriousness?

I thought I had a concussion for a few minutes.

Suddenly, all those falls down the stairs when he was little that resulted in little more than a mild cardiac episode for me and about 10 seconds of crying for him are making all the sense in the world.

Maybe I can train him to be a MMA fighter?

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Mind is a Weird Thing.

Sometimes I get something stuck in my head and like some deranged Dustin Hoffman in "Rainman" I can't get it out, no matter how hard I try.

Like how did Hawkeye and BJ have a flipping STILL in their tent on M.A.S.H. and nobody just rolled them one night and took the thing? They were in KOREA for pete's sake with a working, functioning still and not ONE fellow soldier ever thought of just beating the crap out of them and taking the thing? They weren't exactly Soldiers of Fortune or anything.

Or why did Mel on "Alice" wear a short sleeved t-shirt and still feel the need to roll up his sleeves like he was the Fonze on "Happy Days"? For that matter, why did he wear a hat at work when he was three hairs away from looking like Kojak?

Don't get me started on Vera; how someone who'd obviously had a lobotomy was allowed to serve food to the public is a story for a different day.

This weeks obsession? That NASCAR commercial they've been running for the past few months about the Daytona 500 with that song in the background that has caused me to spend every minute driving to and from work racking my brain to figure out who it was. I went through Billy Squire, Firehouse, and Warrant albums more times than I care to admit before it hit me on the way home tonight. I almost hit a shrub which caused me to think of a tree which made me think of Joshua Tree which of course led to U2 which finalized in me remembering it was Bad (Wide Awake in America), circa somewhere around 10th grade which would be 84/85.

Don't try and figure it out; it'll just make your head hurt.

Trust me on this.

I dreamed I was at Spring Training last night.

I'm taking that as a good omen.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Fenway has never seemed so far away.

So it's 10:32 on Monday night, I'm trying to wrap my mind around Rene Walker sticking a bread knife in some Russian guy's eye on "24" tonight and watching "Bloods and Cripps" on National Geographic when I see a commercial for some show that involves a really weird dude married to a blow up doll.

That single paragraph speaks volumes about my state of mind right now.

I need baseball.


Sunday, February 7, 2010

Who Dat? Who Dat? Who Dat gonna beat them Saints?

Saints 31. Colts 17.

I wasn't off by much.

Somebody better call in the National Guard.

'Cause the party they are gonna have in New Orleans is gonna make Mardis Gras look like a Shriners convention.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

The Winter of my Discontent. Or Something.

Tomorrow, for me, is one of the greatest sports days of the year and at the same time one of the worse. Tomorrow, the NFL crowns it's yearly champion amidst an all day extravaganza (The NFL Network is starting at NINE a.m. For a game that starts around SIX THIRTY at night. What in God's name can they talk about that hasn't been beaten into the ground already? I'm fully expecting one hour to be devoted to Peyton Manning's SNL gigs at this point. And as big of a Deion Sanders fan as I am, I STILL can't imagine watching him pontificate for nine hours wearing a suit that doubles as a slip cover.)

See, I'm sort of a 2 sport guy. Baseball first and NFL football second. I'll watch a NCAA football game if it's on and I can't find something better and I keep up with the paper and the Interwebs but give me the choice of Gordon Ramsay or Alabama vs Florida and I'm taking the foul mouthed Brittish dude in a heartbeat.

And you can forget about college basketball, which makes me somewhat of an oddball here on Tobacco Road; these people take Duke/UNC basketball to a Blood vs Crips level and I just don't get it. Why should I care about a bunch of kids who are going to bolt after one year just to go to the NBA and sit on the bench? And don't even get me started on Dick Vitale, a man I STRONGLY feel should be classified as a menace to society. Enough with the "Baby!" shtick; it stopped being funny about the same time Sansabelt slacks went out of style.

As for the NBA, if I want to watch a bunch of guys chuck it and dunk it and trash talk their way through 60 minutes I can just walk out my front door, give Rakes and Trot a ball, and let the festivities commence.

NASCAR? Nah. Although I do get a kick out of the winner doing his "I'd like to thank Chevrolet, Mt Dew, Penzoil, Preparation H, and Dairy Queen for giving me such a great car", watching 40 guys turn left for 500 miles sort of loses it's appeal after about 2 laps. My brother tells me Hockey is where it's at, but I have no idea what, if any rules there are. And while I appreciate the skill level it takes to skate backwards while keeping a puck away from some Russian dude who'd like nothing better than to shatter your larynx I still can't make myself watch.

So tomorrow I'll watch Manning and Brees and Bush and Wayne and suffer through 3+ hours of Jim Nance telling me the obvious while wondering, not for the first time, how Phil Simms parlayed one great Super Bowl into a gig where he's considered one of the top voices of the game. Like Don King says: Only in America.

However, I'll watch with a heavy heart.

'Cause it's a LONG time from Super Bowl Sunday until Opening Day.

Saints 35. Colts 32.

You heard it here first.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Funny. He LOOKS Normal.

Anyone who'd bite on the end of their cloth gloves standing in snow with temperatures hovering around freezing is a little odd. Throw in having a peeing fetish, his propensity to walk around and randomly yell "Shake your Bootie!" while shaking his butt, and screaming "ROCK BAND!!!!" during dinner and Trot is a case study looking for a shrink to talk to.

Tonight, while we were playing Wii he added a new wrinkle to his arsenal. Rakes is going to town on boxing while I'm sitting on the floor with Trot in my lap, the latter eating a cheese stick.




Like some deranged 3 year old Coco the Gorilla, he's reclined back on me, right foot casually crossed over his left leg with half a cheese stick between This Little Piggy went to Market and This Little Piggy stayed Home, all the while cheering his big brother on while he merrily munches away.

With his feet. What would possess a child to stick food between his toes and then eat it? Is this normal or should I be looking into the childhood of people like Carrot Top, Alex Rodriguez, and every fool who shows up on "American Idol" thinking they can sing and instead sounding like a Parrot with it's marbles caught in a blender?

I'm a God fearing, tax paying, hot dog eating, baseball loving guy just trying to make ends meet and raise a family and I may have a future cast member of "Jackass" on my hands.

I can haz baseball soon?

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Another Glorious Day in Retail

To the nice, rational lady who had her delivery changed from Saturday to Monday due to THE EIGHT INCHES OF SNOW WE GOT OVER THE WEEKEND who came into the store and dropped multiple F Bombs on my boss?

I'd like to say, in the nicest way possible........




Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I'm LOST. Again.

Watching the season premiere/start of the series finale of LOST tonight, and within the first 5 minutes I was totally, completely confused and wondering if JJ Abrams has a drug problem.

'Course I never could figure out why Mr. Roper thought Jack Tripper was gay and not just living with two hot women to save on his rent so what do I know?

Truck Day is 10 days away, Josh Beckett is in a contract year and I've made it through another off season without losing my mind.

Sort of.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Snowed In. And Loving It.

After the first big snow we've had in YEARS around here, we all went outside yesterday to do some sledding and enjoy the day.

Trot and Ciera on a tandem run.

Trot doing it all wrong.

Dad lending a hand.

Rakes, not wanting any help, getting ready.

He hit a tree, btw.

And we still made some time to cuddle.

While Rakes was wrapping himself around that tree.

I can't describe how ready I am to go back to work tomorrow; I love my kids, but 3 straight days at home is enough to send me over the edge.

Did I mention they are calling for more snow this weekend?


Do Klingons babysit and what do they charge?

Captains Log: Day 3

I'm home alone with Trot and Rakes, Ange and Ciera have deserted me for some so-called "workday" which I'm pretty sure is female code for "let's go shopping".

It's been 3 days since it snowed and I'm seeing Indiana Jones Lego's in my sleep. We've went sledding, attempted to build a snow man, and played the Wii so much it was smoking last night.

I've lost at least 30 points off my IQ (and trust me; I didn't have a lot of wiggle room there to begin with) due to the massive amounts of Disney channel and SpongeBob Squarepants I've endured over the past 72 hours.

I'd take them outside again but the thought of getting all those clothes on them and then taking all those same clothes, only now soaking wet, off them is giving me the hives. Locking them in a closet was an option but then I remembered they could pick the lock.

Think I'll just go with the old "Wing It and Pray" option and hope for the best.

Kirk out.