Please Keep My Boy Dumb

Please Keep My Boy Dumb

Lilly has a full shelf of books for our boy already. I don’t know why we have so many books, he can’t even read. My mother was over at the house scrounging through his room checking out all the thousands of dollars of useless junk that people have gotten us. She pulled a few books off the shelf and sat down with him in the big blue rocking chair and began reading to him. I heard her from my room. So I went in there and asked her, “Why are reading to him, he doesn’t even know what you’re saying?”

“What, you’ve gotta be kidding me. He likes books. The colors….the pages…and he likes the sound of my voice. You have to read to him, he’ll pick up on the sounds, and it will make him smart,” She said incredulously.

“Well the thing is, we can’t afford college. We can’t afford for him to be smart. And we want to buy a house ya know. You best put that book down woman,” I demanded of her. She rolled her eyes and continued reading in spite of our dwindling bank account.


I've been tiz-agged. Thanks Lukes Father! I’m ‘lucky’. Although, an inherent problem with making friends via blog, is that there is a common practice that inflicts undesired demands upon us. Such as taking a self portrait in spite of trying to remain anonymous on the net. I thought of merely shooting up to my neck line, but that would be cheating. So I found a loop hole in the rules. In fact I went a step farther and posted two pictures of myself. Sadly, I’m breaking the rules. This tag pyramid dies here.


Is my head proportionate with my body?

In the photo of my reflection that I just shot I just got home from a little shin-dig at a friends pad and was having some late night therapy sessions with my good buddy Jack, on the left there, while catching up with my new form of crack they call blogging. The stoned photo of my mug within the photo of my sauced up reflection was taken in my Tahoe. We were going surfing and paused to smoke a bowl. My friend thought it was necessary to snap a photo while I was exhaling. And I never have a beard. I think that was around the time we found out we were pregnant and I was protesting by going scruffy for a while.

How odd, I mentioned Jack, Crack, and Weed in the same post. Funny though, because I’m not addicted to any of those, anymore. Things just tend to happen in threes around here. I blame the sauce from the party.

Half Moon Holiday

Yes this is my real Christmas card that we sent out. The first edition had a full moon, so this is tame in comparison.

Perilous Predicaments

          Perilous Predicaments

Our children are our most precious assets. As a new parent I often worry about his well being. Fear often tugs at my heart. Fear of the unknown, of what could happen. There are so many harmful things around a helpless baby. With this new collection of photos I am expressing what I am fearful of, of the dangers my son currently faces. Yes, I want them to shock you, I want you to curl your lip in disgust when you see them, but mostly I want you to laugh. I need to laugh at my fears, if I don’t they tend to get the best of me. So laugh with me. And know that no animals were harmed during the shooting of these photos.

"Boy In Hot Water"

This is the newest image in an ongoing series of photos I am working on. The first set of photos I shot in the series was posted right over yonder-> Perilous Predicaments

The concept for this shot was donated by Katie, the chick with the cutest 'lil princesses on the net.

A guy will say anything...

          A guy will say anything...

“You made a Lill promise.” I declared to Lilly.

“A what?” Lilly asked me.

“A Lill promise. Named after it’s originator. It’s when you say you may or even may not do something. Then you have to do it.”

“I never promised yesterday that I would make you dinner tonight.”

“I know, but you made a Lill promise. You said that ‘you might make dinner tomorrow night.’ That qualifies as a Lill promise. Every time that I say I might do something you come back later with, ‘but you promised you would,’ when clearly I never did. Hence, the Lill promise. You said you might make dinner, so you have to now.”

Lilly turned her back to me with a roll of her yes and a sigh as she began flipping through the days stack of credit card applications, delinquent bills and magazine renewal notices.“I need to know what you have decided about having another kid.”

“What’s that got to do with making dinner right now!”

She laughed, “I just need to know.”

“Unless we can go up stairs right now and make one….otherwise, cook us food Woman.” Yes I call her Woman often. She likes it.

“Okay, I’m game. Right now. Although dam it, I’m still on that birth control shot.” She set down the stack and propped her hands on her hips while awaiting my response.

A sigh escaped me with an exaggerated exhale.

“Well we need to practice making one.” Of course I have no intention of actually producing another baby. But a guy will say anything…

A Moment Of Weakness

          A Moment Of Weakness

Seething in the lobby of the Westin hotel in the heart of downtown Seattle. I had just came back in from getting soaked in a winters storm outside while smoking these gnarly cigarettes. Something which is given a nickname of what I am sitting on right now does not belong in this weathered mouth. I had quit cigs six years previously after a seven year binge. Now I regress back to putting a dirty butt in my mouth.

A father passes by behind my lounging couch with his young son straddled atop his shoulders, they reach his wife standing in line at the counter and he says rather loudly as if announcing his presence to the lobby patrons, "You need to go dry your hair," to his unsuspecting wife. I wonder if she takes offense to revealing to the lobby the state of her frazzled rain soaked nap. How inappropriate. The lady has feelings man.

My conscious has guilt weighing down upon it. I just escaped the sanctity of my cozy hotel room while Lilly comforts the contorting and screaming kid as she cradles him into his morning nap. I had to get away. I awoke angry and could hardly muster up the courage to speak. The night before had been a hellish scene of frustration for me with the boy. Lilly had a holiday party in a nearby hotel last night, so I hung out with the boy all by my lonesome from 5:30 till 12:00. In that time he slept only one hour, divided up into two short naps. Not his typical night. He should have been asleep before Lilly left, then been up for merely a couple hours before passing out again around 8:30. Instead he was fighting his existence until nearly 11:00. My frustration rose to anger and I lost my cool. I had reached the tipping point of remaining calm and boiled over.

I wanted to shake him to express my anger, of course I could never…ever, could I. Is that a question or am I convincing myself I could not. I felt like throwing my pillow at him, to startle his wits. Isn't there some kind of room service that takes babys down to the kitchen and puts them on ice for later consumption? Isn't there a number to call that can fix this? Where the hell is Lilly! She was supposed to be here two hours ago. Why am I so angry with Lilly, she has done nothing wrong. And yet I feel contemptuous towards her because she is not here to take away my frustrations. I can’t simply hand off the boy and be done with this battle. I audibly sigh to my complaining son as I imagine Lilly shitfaced in the ballroom of some neighboring hotel schmoozing with her fellow coworkers, of whom she has only met in person tonight.

So last night we all went to the lobby for an evening stroll to buy butts. Like I said I don't smoke cigarettes anymore. Until last night. My throat has a scratch, my clothes reek of cheap Phillip Morris aftertaste, and half a pack later I inexplicably can't stop inhaling this vile creation. The boy decided to interrupt my newly found sleep at 2:30 this last night, and awoke our room with tormented screams for thirty minutes. Dam I should have taken that sleeping pill. I scour my bag and pull out a methocarbamol the size of a chewable vitamin C wafer. Break it into quarters and pop one of the small wedges. They were originally intended for dogs. Ahh the perks of having a fully stocked animal hospital in the family...Sleep comes. And it goes just as quickly as the boy once again begins wreaking havoc at 7:30 in the morn. For another hour I fight it. I denounce his authority of invading my sleep and fight the incessant battle taking place among him and the warrior Lilly. I lose the battle and give in to his torments.

So only twenty minutes ago I skipped out after five hours sleep to go out into the frigid 40 degree Seattle rain to stick another butt in my mouth. A vile and yet wonderful feeling courses through my blood. My blood brain barrier has been violated, and I like it. The metho pill still courses through me as I fight to bring my senses into full fruition with a dose of hotel room coffee. The brain numbing air out here does the rest. I wonder how Lilly is fairing with The Boy up there, perhaps I should go make amends and return to our wonderful vacation I abandoned late yesterday afternoon. The feel of Christmas is alive up here, the frigid air, seasonal decorated trees among the concrete jungle, the raving mad shoppers coursing through the streets as we walked the entire length of the city. What happened to that. Can I bring back the joy we were experiencing yesterday. I’m off to try. Holding this anger in me is poisonous. He’s just a baby dam it! It’s only sleep!



I return to our room to find The Boy standing up, his face smacked up against the rain punched window. Lilly is putting her face on in preparation to go to another work function involving food and wine. She asks me, “what did I do, you haven’t said one word to me this morning…”

Just as I was about to explain my grief away with excuses, she takes my words right out of my mouth, “I know you’re tired, I know he’s been a pain in the ass, but I didn’t do anything.”

“I know. I’m not mad at you. I’m just stressed out, he’s driving me nuts.” But I do feel anger towards Lilly. She wasn’t there last night when I needed her. I should know better than to go on her work trips. Am I jealous she is out schmoozing and I am stuck in here with the crying kid? Last work trip I went on with her this year I got in a fight with one of her coworkers. He was inappropriately drunk at the work function dinner and was making very rude and intrusive comments to everyone. He said the wrong thing to me and we got into it good. My shoddy past came back to life and my alcohol infused anger resurfaced. I promised myself never to go on another work trip, and yet here I am. And I am in a foul mood, but for a completely different reason. I have no good reason to be angry with Lilly. She has done nothing. I need to better learn to manage my feelings and openly express them to her. After assessing the current situation in the room and the mood of The Boy I ask Lilly, “so did he sleep yet?”

“Yeah, for a mere twenty minutes.”

The Boy is irritable, I am irritable, Lilly has been irritated by us both now. She picks him up and plops him down on me lying on the bed. He spazzes out for a while, then becomes transfixed on The Simpsons Movie playing on local tv. He’s getting groggy. Lilly is about to leave and comes back in the room, she whispers from behind us, “oh I forgot my purse.”

‘No, don’t…” I whisper.

“I know…” as she puts her trench coat over her head to hide her face from The Boy and tiptoes across the room for her purse. I laugh inside. If he sees her when tired he will begin to cry, I know this because of trials and errors. I also shield his eyes from her view.

The Boy finally passes out as oddly enough, Marge and the kids pull up to Seattle in a train. I look out the window at the city I am watching on the tv. Rain, cold, clouds, I love it. There must be waves, I think. I pop another wedge of methocarbamol to hide myself from my anguish. He’s sleeping? He’s asleep! Too bad I now have to pack up the room and forgo my own sleep, in preparation to head out to her relatives house in the woods. He just woke up? He’s awake! A mere twenty minutes of peace…

Don’t you dare!

          Don’t you dare!

Ever since Lilly declared to me on the eve prior to Hallows Eve, that we are going to have another baby boy, she has been relentless in pushing the matter further. She has been demanding we have a baby, and she has been implementing her vile methods of persuasion through the usage of angry sarcasm, deceitful lies, and cruel and unusual threats. I don’t respond to violent speech well lady!

Two days after her initial revelation of wanting another kid she pushed the matter again. She seems to have already put a lot of thought into the details of getting pregnant. It has been coming increasingly apparent to me that she had the logistics all worked out prior to her confession.

My boy was crawling around the bedroom floor, maneuvering this way and that, putting his mouth on undusted corners and sticking hairballs of cat and Lilly’s hair in his mouth with gooey fingers. “Uhm, someone needs to dust around here.” Lilly likes to use the word ‘someone’ a lot, in reference to me. Or her best is, ‘everyone/no-one around here’. Which of course is just me again. Such as the following gem, ‘No-one around here ever unloads the dishwasher!’

“Look at him just scooting all over the place like that.” She exclaimed with glee.

“Yeah, he’s all over the place now. That’s why we’ve been hanging out downstairs the past couple of days. I’m afraid if he gets out in the hall he’ll bounce right down those stairs.” He just recently started crawling, so every few days he reaches a new level of mobility and strength.

“I don’t think he would survive the fall.”

“Sure he would. Yeah he might break a few vertebrae, perhaps a femur or two, but he would survive.” She gave me that ‘don’t you dare even joke about that kind of shit’, stare. “Okay so he would only walk away with a concussion or get knocked out.”

‘You wanted him to be mobile so bad…,” she felt obligated to remind me of this.

“Yeah, but mobile and capable. Right now he’s not very able.” For months I have kept saying that raising my boy will finally be fun when he can run around with me. Well, I had really said when he can wipe his own ass. And even more specifically, “when he can surf with me.”

“When do you expect that to happen, by the time he’s two at…”

“Soon as he’s wiping his own ass I suppose.”

“At least two then,” Lilly affirmed.

After going back to putting on her morning face from the bathroom mirror she said “it’s coming to the point where I get my last birth control shot.” She started those three month shots after we had The Boy.

“Don’t you dare,” I emphasized this much louder than needed for her to hear. I wanted her to really hear it, with gusto.

Lilly popped her head back in the room for this one, “well, it’s coming soon. I want to get pregnant in March,” as quickly as her head was there, it was gone again.

“What’s the significance of March,” I said with much disdain, as if I had just been betrayed.

“Cause it takes nine months. We need to have our other son by the time Mr Pants is two.”

“You’re trying to kill me aren’t you? I think you are. I think you found out how to kill me, now you want to implement your sadistic plan.” Yes, I do talk like this sometimes. After a brief pause for dramatic affect, “did you forget that I am the one staying at home with them? I am the majority shareholder when it comes to the raising of our offspring. So I own %51, you have a %49 stake. When it comes to decisions around here about how many ankle bighters we have cluttering the floor, I hold majority.” I was speaking to deaf ears. The next thing I hear is a blazing hair dryer emanating from the bathroom. You can see how serious she takes me when I speak like that. The sad thing is, I thought I was.

Kitty Or Kiddy?

          Kitty Or Kiddy?

We have a cat that I call ‘Kitty’ all the time, and now that we have a kid, I started calling him ‘Kiddy’. So it’s Kitty and Kiddy. Sometimes they get confused so I call them Kitty K and Kiddy D. Kitty K was sprawled out along the back of the couch by my head and Kiddy D was sprawled out on the floor at my feet.

The day before Halloween, Lilly D was beside me finishing off her bottle of Pinot Grigio after The Boy had fallen asleep early on that work night. Well of course every day is a work night for me…Lilly only works five days a week. Lilly said to me, “I want another one.”

“You do, really?” She drinks very little now during the breast feeding stage, so with only one or two glasses of wine Lilly gets rather buzzed. So I was surprised to hear that she wanted to pop open a second bottle.

“You want another bottle, you know those are $20 each?”

“No, I want another Kiddy.”

I glanced at her wide eyed as my numb brain worked surprisingly quick and slurred, “Okay, we can get another Kitty.” I leaned over to pet the cat that was sleeping lazily on the back of the couch, arms dangling out in front of her and down the cushion.

“No, I want another k-i-d-d-y.” She said as my face drained to white and my buzz became lost in the silence that followed.

And that was the first time Lilly confessed to wanting another kid. In fact she wants a boy, and she wants him exactly when our first boy turns two. But we’ll get to all that later. For now I’m going to bury my head in my pillow, eat bon-bons, and cry while kissing another two years of surfing good-bye.