Ugly start to the month of June. Not that I particularly like going a week without posting, but this week was the kinda job that could bring a man to his proverbial knees. Not sure why those knees have to be proverbial, but just live with it. Started it off on our anniversary (June 1st) by taking my lovely wife to a board of directors dinner. Yeah, that’s how we roll. Not really. I’m a terrible husband. We’re celebrating today. Lost our microwave. But also got the air conditioner fixed for a hundred and change. That could’ve been much worse. Wednesday evening was our annual company golf tournament reception. Not too difficult of a task, but I had to wear a tie and sometimes, that’s brutal enough of an experience for me. It was so traumatizing that somewhere in the madness and freakiness of the event, I lost my sideburns. Like gone. Absolutely gone. I had decided that they didn’t look good with a tie and jacket. Sucks.
Woke up at 2:45AM on Thursday morning to take my lovely wife to work so that she could hit the road to Omaha, NE for two days. That’s 12 hours each way in the car for the mothership. Ugh. Don’t like being lovely wifeless anymore. It used to be nice break. I like solitude. Quiet time. Not that my lovely wife is a particularly loud woman. I just don’t like being alone as much as I used to. It’s just overrated. Especially when you’re licking the wounds of a game-one Celtics pounding at the hands of the ugliest ostrich in the NBA…Pau Gasol. Someone just elbow him in the middle of his face. Make him bleed! I can’t be that hard to hit. I wish that Kendrick would just go ahead and whoop his ass, get his technical to push him to seven so that he can sit out his one game and get it over with. He’s playing too soft. I’d rather he miss an early game instead of a Game 5 or 6. And if he’s gonna have to play the game he should be playing, he can’t have to worry about another technical. I say clothesline someone. Make it count. Sit out your game and then start anew with a fresh seven to spend in the remaining games.
Started putting together the crib. I should’ve listened to my lovely wife because it completely sucks when you only have two hands. And my right hand is still ailing a bit from a wrist injury when I decided to slide into third base to show off for my father and my lovely wife in church-league softball. Yeah, studly stuff. I must be losing my edge. Mowed the lawn last night in 94-degree West Texas heat. That’s a brutal way to spend your Friday night. About to go arrange some breakfast in bed action for my lovely wife.
Was thinking, however, that along with putting the crib together, painting the nursery, arranging for daycare, insurance, you know the important stuff, I was dwelling on even more important matters. I’m talking about what you call the duty…the dook. I think it’s important because it’ll eventually come up in a public forum…a grocery store, doctor’s office, school lunch room, bank line, post office line. She’s gonna say, “Daddy, I need to go _____.” I heard someone the other day use “poop” and I just hate that word. Let’s take a closer look at our options:
Poop: “poop” is just too single-syllabic. It’s too short and not really fun. It doesn’t really explore the total coolness of the experience. If I was in the “poop” realm, I would probably opt more for the more Sesame Street “poopie” which has a better ring to it. “Poop” is out.
Doo Doo/Poo Poo: Yeah, this is more like it. I’m a big fan of the double-pump. These are lot more entertaining, but pretty juvenile. It’s like something the daddy says when he’s hovering over a heavy diaper talking to an infant who can’t even speak yet. “Aw, did you leave me a big poo poo?” Then the infant wiggles around on the changing table and laughs a little. I don’t like how it feels in a situation where a child is standing there with their legs clutched together tightly, sweating profusely, belting out the words: “Daddy, I need to doo doo!” Hmm. Better, but not perfect.
Crap: Now here’s one you don’t hear often. “Crap” is like the middle ground between “poop” and words you hear in PG-13 movies. You’d still achieve a PG rating with “crap.” It’s like a yellow light or medium grade sandpaper. It’s a little coarse, but it’s better than hearing what other colorful language your child might be learning in the schoolyard. Of course, I guess by the time they’re anywhere near a schoolyard, they’re not raising their hands and asking to “go take a poo poo.” Let’s hope not. A two year old mumbling that he has to “take a crap” is funny but not really appropriate.
Ca-ca: I’m a big fan of “ca-ca” simply because I think it’s strikes the middle ground between “poop” and “crap.” It sounds slightly explicit because of the hard “c” sounds but it’s altogether harmless. Not only that, but it’s rarely used so there’s a really nice dissonance there. Would think it’s awesome to have the only kid in the nursery who uses the word “ca-ca.” The only downside to “ca-ca” for me, though, is that it brings to mind a really ugly mess. “Poop” and “doo doo” sound kinda cute. “Ca-ca” sounds like someone did damage. It sounds like something you come across that is more like a dead animal than something that came from your child. Maybe it’s a classification of how disastrous the mess is. If it’s catastrophic, it’s “ca-ca.” I remember as a kid my brother teaching me the word “ca-ca” along with the word “shit” as he pointed to a small oil stain on a seatbelt in the back of our family car on our way to Joyland in Lubbock, Texas. He was citing a scene in Caveman in which Ta discovers some foul-smelling mud behind a rock. He repeated the phrase over and over again and then it embedded itself in my young mind. When we got home, conveniently, I was presented with a circumstance perfect for me to drop the s-bomb.
The dishwasher overflowed.
I belted out the word so loud that my mother whipped around and, first things firstly, she grabbed me by the arm and dragged my foul mouth to the bathroom and washed my mouth out with soap. Then she cleaned up the dishwasher. Thanks, bro.
It’s Saturday, kiddos. Keep the funk alive.