It's nearing the end of another year and what a perfect time to guest post on the COAB's blog. Although ambushed into doing it, I must say that I am both very honoured and nervous. It's my first time.... blogging.
What a year it's been! Living in such proximity to the COAB has given me the priviledge of being witness to so many events in his life. From the funny ( we all remember Movember right?), to the sad, and even the daily musings that he always manages to transform into the memorable, I have had the priviledge of being a part of most of it. We, Father and Mother of Many, are always but a few steps away and love the bond that exists between both families. How many adult siblings, who don't live on a compound or share the same husband, can say that they see each other every day? Not too many! What a gift it is.
From across the street, I have been witness to many events throughout the past year. I have seen my nephew transform into a chubby toddler. He toddles after his sisters and is beginning to recognize me~ no better feeling in the world than to be the recipient of his slobbery kisses. The sisters both hold pieces of my heart. The Eldest was my first niece. She made me dream of princesses and rethink how to do braids. I wanted a daughter just like her. The daughter formely known as the latest addition, is the child who always cuddles with me. She makes everything all right. Who knew a child could make an adult feel that way ? I can't wait for my latest to beg to go and play with the sisters.
From across the street, I have seen my brother and Hot Wife transform into athletes. They inspired Father of Many and myself to take on the quest of fitness. They were the ones who encouraged us to become better version of ourselves. Who knew that one year later, the four of us would be discussing the next round, the foods that we would miss the most, the healthy foods that we craved the most and when we would be getting back on the wagon. It been quite the journey.
From across the street, I have seen the COAB at his best. He is this amazing father who adores each second spent with his kids (well most of them anyway). He's the father who spends the time showing the sisters how to ride bikes, runs after bubbles and let's his kids know every single day that they are loved.
From across the street, I have been the big sister. Every night, I peek over to make sure that everything is peaceful at the COAB house. I am still the sister who feels the need to keep an eye out for her brother. I am still the sister who would run through fields to unhook her brother from the top of a fence. I am still the sister who would go and find the Matriarch to fetch her brother who is stuck in the mud pit. I am still the sister who beams with pride at his every accomplishment. I am still the sister who gets so angry with her brother but who knows that it will blow over and that the peace will return. I am the sister who loves every second of living across the street.
And so as this year ends, I would like to wish the COAB family a happy and healthy 2011. All the best for this new year. I look forward to witnessing so many more event from across the street.
I love you.
Mother of Many
-----------------
Editor's Note: The urge to write tonight left me, appropriately enough, just as the Mother of Many happened to cross the room in my vicinity. Yes, I ambushed my sister, The Mother of Many, into writing COAB's final post of 2010.
By accident and on purpose all at once.
The year's last five months have been up and down for this fair blogger. And to look back on my last post of 2-oh-9 somehow amplified the difficulty of writing the last post of 2-oh-10.
So I copped out and left it to someone else, who quite frankly proved herself overwhelmingly capable of helming this page in my stead.
The truth is that there are times when I feel as though I am completely, wholeheartedly, all here. And other times when I feel completely, wholeheartedly, displaced from where I probably should be.
Not in the physical sense. It's just plain bigger than that.
It has been a rough and tumble time, at times, for the guy at the helm of this page. Tonight I am melcanch0lic for where I was a year ago. But also hopeful that the dawn of a new year will yield for me the just rewards that new beginnings always should bring.
I have many wishes for myself, my family, in 2011, none of which necessarily need to find thselves in writing here on this page.
Those will be for me, to hope for, and in some cases to deliver on, as we progress from Day One to Day 365 a year from now.
In the meantime, I leave you, dear readers, dear riends of COAB, with a heartfelt thank you for your patronage of this page.
And to the Mother of Many, a heartfelt thank you for gracing this page with your presence. You are now officially the second best blogger in the family!
Happy New Year to all. May 2011 bring you nothing but the best.
Three... Two... One...
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Spreading the XXX-mas cheer
The holiday season is finally upon us, that time of year when we overindulge in all things festive, when we eat, drink and be merry to the tune of Bing Crosby wanting for a White Christmas or of John Lennon wishing us a happy one.
It is time, as well, to exchange gifts in the tradition of the Three Wise Men, whose offerings of gold, myrrh and frankincense came hard on the heels of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ being born to His immaculately impregnated mother, the Virgin Mary.
(A side note: Is it sacrilegious to wonder if she was screaming Holy Christ as His head began to crown? And if not, to wonder if immaculate conceptions yield pain-free deliveries?)
In any case, this is the time of year when we present presents, as a sign of love, a signal of friendship and a celebration of the birth of Christ.
Our circle of friends engaged in the exercise last weekend, deciding on a gift card exchange between the bunch of us, with each participant expected to make a $25 contribution in the form of a gift card to the establishment of the purchaser’s choice.
Because rarely am I presented an opportunity to mosey on in to an establishment of ill-repute without having at least some semblance of guilt follow me on the way out, I chose to shell out my 25 sheckles at the Adult Fun Superstore, thinking that ‘the gift that keeps on giving’ could not apply any more beautifully than to a gift card that emanates from a store that specializes in edible underwear and blow-up dolls.
If only these were the worst of my findings as I perused the aisles before making my purchase (in the interest of ensuring that my gift’s recipient would be well-served with the plethora of product that such a place peddles, if you must know!)
I have said on this page before that I don’t fancy myself a prude, but even I had to blush as I came across some of the most absurd toys and titles one could possibly imagine, even for a place where the 18-and-under crowd can do no better than hold the door open for the rest of us.
First the toy—a giant butt plug that even Steven Tyler of Aerosmith fame would struggle to fit between his lips, let alone into the orifice it was designed for. Perhaps its size was not unusual for those in society who fear not travelling the wrong way down what I always thought to be a one-way road, and really, that’s not even what had me perplexed.
Instead, I was left puzzled by the long silky donkey tail hanging from one end of it.
That’s right: A DAMN DONKEY TAIL!
I couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle as I imagined the conversation, originating from either the male or female perspective, asking a partner if perhaps it might not be time to incorporate a little bareback horseplay into the bedroom.
Literally.
How does one respond to that?
Then, as I skimmed my way through the skin flick aisles (again to ensure quality for whomever would end up choosing my gift), I came across an absurdly absurd title that would have left me in stitches were it not for the folks on either side of me who were not, I suspect, in the Adult Fun Superstore’s skin flick section on fact-finding missions, as I was.
On the DVD’s cover, a generously plump (read obese) woman in the advanced stages of undress, staring back at me seductively(?), tongue wagging, giant bosom nearly fully revealed, just above the neatly arranged title written out in cursive font: Pigs in a Blanket!
First donkeys, now pigs.
It was enough to leave me wondering if perhaps I hadn’t taken a wrong turn into Old McDonald’s Farm.
I figured it could only go downhill from there, so I wrapped up my business and quickly made my exit, with neither pork products nor ass appendages to show for my time spent in the Adult Fun Superstore.
The Christmas season in these parts has thus far yielded a fair share of Christmas cards, each wishing us, in one way or another, “the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye”, as the lovable loser Clarke Griswold put it in Christmas Vacation.
One card, however, did provoke an interesting exchange between Hot Wife and I.
It came as I remarked that a full mop of hair finally appeared to be growing atop the head of the card sender’s up-until-now follically challenged 15-month old child, at least according to the family picture that doubled as a Christmas card.
Me: Will you look at that, he’s finally got some hair.
Hot Wife: Yeah, he’s gruesome.
Me, incredulous: He’s gruesome? That’s harsh.
Hot Wife: He. Grew. Some.
Me: Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes more sense.
------
And finally, you will notice that all throughout this post, I have purposefully referred to Christmas as Christmas.
Not as ‘The Holidays’.
Not as ‘The Festive Season’.
I have called it Christmas because that’s exactly what it is.
Political correctness in these parts, and most others I suspect, has made it de rigueur to abstain from using the word Christmas, for fear of offending those in society who share not our affinity for the holiday.
To them, I say ‘Christmas, Christmas, Christmas’.
Still, in the interest of poking some fun at political correctness run amok, a colleague passed along the following holiday greeting, which I could not help but repost here:
Please accept with no obligation, implied or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.
I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2011, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make Canada great. Not to imply that Canada is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere.
Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.
(Also please consent to overlook the unfortunate fact that this greeting is currently available in English only as the style is so convoluted and tortuous that no self-respecting translator would touch it!!!)
It is time, as well, to exchange gifts in the tradition of the Three Wise Men, whose offerings of gold, myrrh and frankincense came hard on the heels of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ being born to His immaculately impregnated mother, the Virgin Mary.
(A side note: Is it sacrilegious to wonder if she was screaming Holy Christ as His head began to crown? And if not, to wonder if immaculate conceptions yield pain-free deliveries?)
In any case, this is the time of year when we present presents, as a sign of love, a signal of friendship and a celebration of the birth of Christ.
Our circle of friends engaged in the exercise last weekend, deciding on a gift card exchange between the bunch of us, with each participant expected to make a $25 contribution in the form of a gift card to the establishment of the purchaser’s choice.
Because rarely am I presented an opportunity to mosey on in to an establishment of ill-repute without having at least some semblance of guilt follow me on the way out, I chose to shell out my 25 sheckles at the Adult Fun Superstore, thinking that ‘the gift that keeps on giving’ could not apply any more beautifully than to a gift card that emanates from a store that specializes in edible underwear and blow-up dolls.
If only these were the worst of my findings as I perused the aisles before making my purchase (in the interest of ensuring that my gift’s recipient would be well-served with the plethora of product that such a place peddles, if you must know!)
I have said on this page before that I don’t fancy myself a prude, but even I had to blush as I came across some of the most absurd toys and titles one could possibly imagine, even for a place where the 18-and-under crowd can do no better than hold the door open for the rest of us.
First the toy—a giant butt plug that even Steven Tyler of Aerosmith fame would struggle to fit between his lips, let alone into the orifice it was designed for. Perhaps its size was not unusual for those in society who fear not travelling the wrong way down what I always thought to be a one-way road, and really, that’s not even what had me perplexed.
Instead, I was left puzzled by the long silky donkey tail hanging from one end of it.
That’s right: A DAMN DONKEY TAIL!
I couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle as I imagined the conversation, originating from either the male or female perspective, asking a partner if perhaps it might not be time to incorporate a little bareback horseplay into the bedroom.
Literally.
How does one respond to that?
Then, as I skimmed my way through the skin flick aisles (again to ensure quality for whomever would end up choosing my gift), I came across an absurdly absurd title that would have left me in stitches were it not for the folks on either side of me who were not, I suspect, in the Adult Fun Superstore’s skin flick section on fact-finding missions, as I was.
On the DVD’s cover, a generously plump (read obese) woman in the advanced stages of undress, staring back at me seductively(?), tongue wagging, giant bosom nearly fully revealed, just above the neatly arranged title written out in cursive font: Pigs in a Blanket!
First donkeys, now pigs.
It was enough to leave me wondering if perhaps I hadn’t taken a wrong turn into Old McDonald’s Farm.
I figured it could only go downhill from there, so I wrapped up my business and quickly made my exit, with neither pork products nor ass appendages to show for my time spent in the Adult Fun Superstore.
-------
The Christmas season in these parts has thus far yielded a fair share of Christmas cards, each wishing us, in one way or another, “the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye”, as the lovable loser Clarke Griswold put it in Christmas Vacation.
One card, however, did provoke an interesting exchange between Hot Wife and I.
It came as I remarked that a full mop of hair finally appeared to be growing atop the head of the card sender’s up-until-now follically challenged 15-month old child, at least according to the family picture that doubled as a Christmas card.
Me: Will you look at that, he’s finally got some hair.
Hot Wife: Yeah, he’s gruesome.
Me, incredulous: He’s gruesome? That’s harsh.
Hot Wife: He. Grew. Some.
Me: Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes more sense.
------
And finally, you will notice that all throughout this post, I have purposefully referred to Christmas as Christmas.
Not as ‘The Holidays’.
Not as ‘The Festive Season’.
I have called it Christmas because that’s exactly what it is.
Political correctness in these parts, and most others I suspect, has made it de rigueur to abstain from using the word Christmas, for fear of offending those in society who share not our affinity for the holiday.
To them, I say ‘Christmas, Christmas, Christmas’.
Still, in the interest of poking some fun at political correctness run amok, a colleague passed along the following holiday greeting, which I could not help but repost here:
Please accept with no obligation, implied or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.
I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2011, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make Canada great. Not to imply that Canada is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere.
Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.
(Also please consent to overlook the unfortunate fact that this greeting is currently available in English only as the style is so convoluted and tortuous that no self-respecting translator would touch it!!!)
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Goodbye CNN
Editor's Note:
In light of Larry King’s final show this evening, I perused the Internet researching the bespectacled and suspendered television host, and came across this bootleg version of what I can only assume will be Mr. King’s farewell address to the nation as his 25-year tenure at CNN comes to an end.
It sheds much light on the real Larry King, and gives the scoop on where he could have gone from here.
Very compelling, very revealing stuff.
(Just click the image to begin...)
In light of Larry King’s final show this evening, I perused the Internet researching the bespectacled and suspendered television host, and came across this bootleg version of what I can only assume will be Mr. King’s farewell address to the nation as his 25-year tenure at CNN comes to an end.
It sheds much light on the real Larry King, and gives the scoop on where he could have gone from here.
Very compelling, very revealing stuff.
(Just click the image to begin...)
---------
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
It's in the fine print
Hot Wife has been saddled up at home in recent days, suffering from severe strep throat.
Rumours have circulated around the doctor's office that perhaps it was mono that ailed her.
While those tests have not yet revealed themselves to be true or false, it was comforting to learn today that her inability to swallow even a single sip of water is attributable to a specific cause.
Mercifully, she now has medication to tame that stubborn sore throat.
Before popping her first pill, she did as she always does with prescription medication, and read the accompanying document that describes in great detail some of the possible side effects.
Most were typical, but one stood out like a black hairy tongue.
That's because that one possible side effect to the medication is a black hairy tongue.
That's right, A BLACK HAIRY TONGUE!
Our conversation after that revelation went a little something like this:
Me: You know you're not sleeping in my bed if you get a black hairy tongue, right?
Hot Wife, pouty-lipped and puppy dog-eyed: But you're supposed to love me in sickness and in health, remember?
Me: You didn't read the fine print in the marriage accord. It clearly states in small italics that a husband is to love his Hot Wife in sickness and in health, unless she develops a black hairy tongue, in which case she is to sleep on the couch until any and all symptoms, i.e. the black hair on the tongue, go away!
Hot Wife: You're a jerk.
Obviously, she was unimpressed by what I thought to be a clever retort, but it will teach her a good lesson.
It is as important to be aware of your contractual obligations as per your marriage license as it is to keep yourself informed of the side effects of medication that could potentially cover your tongue in black hair.
Fine print is fine print, no matter how and where it applies!
Rumours have circulated around the doctor's office that perhaps it was mono that ailed her.
While those tests have not yet revealed themselves to be true or false, it was comforting to learn today that her inability to swallow even a single sip of water is attributable to a specific cause.
Mercifully, she now has medication to tame that stubborn sore throat.
Before popping her first pill, she did as she always does with prescription medication, and read the accompanying document that describes in great detail some of the possible side effects.
Most were typical, but one stood out like a black hairy tongue.
That's because that one possible side effect to the medication is a black hairy tongue.
That's right, A BLACK HAIRY TONGUE!
Our conversation after that revelation went a little something like this:
Me: You know you're not sleeping in my bed if you get a black hairy tongue, right?
Hot Wife, pouty-lipped and puppy dog-eyed: But you're supposed to love me in sickness and in health, remember?
Me: You didn't read the fine print in the marriage accord. It clearly states in small italics that a husband is to love his Hot Wife in sickness and in health, unless she develops a black hairy tongue, in which case she is to sleep on the couch until any and all symptoms, i.e. the black hair on the tongue, go away!
Hot Wife: You're a jerk.
Obviously, she was unimpressed by what I thought to be a clever retort, but it will teach her a good lesson.
It is as important to be aware of your contractual obligations as per your marriage license as it is to keep yourself informed of the side effects of medication that could potentially cover your tongue in black hair.
Fine print is fine print, no matter how and where it applies!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Daddies and daughters
Time has taught me to take full advantage of every spare moment I can get with my children.
Time has also taught me that when I see the 4898 digits on my call display at work, 4898 being the last four digits of my daycare's phone number, it is rarely with good reason.
Thursday afternoon, the numbers appeared unexpectedly, with a worrisome voice on the other end saying that The Daughter Formerly Known as The Latest Addition had lost her lunch all over the table and would need to be picked up, stat.
And so it is that I made my way to daycare, expecting to find a lethargic ball of a little girl when I got there, but instead picked up a little ball of energy whose petulance went beyond the boundaries of what we are normally accustomed to.
There was no sickness in that there little girl.
In any case, daycare rules stipulate that upchuckers are unwelcome for at least 24 hours after the upchucking has occurred, so unexpectedly I was treated to a surprise Friday reprieve from work, to spend in the company of my sometimes rambunctious, sometimes cantankerous, always marvellous baby girl.
It was outstanding.
We left the house bright and early, eager to get a headstart on some Christmas shopping, me and The DFKATLA, bound and determined to pack it all in, and then some, before the onslaught of moody, morose and some times malicious Christmas shoppers caught up to us.
So we bounced from store to store, way ahead of the crowds, her and I, daddy and daughter, sharing in innocent moments of fatherly-daughterly love, two people lost in a sea of shoppers, but completely, wholeheartedly, happy with their lot in life.
From here to there we went, me and The DFKATLA, sharing moments that meant nothing and everything all at once, culminating with a seat on a cliche shopping mall bench, both enjoying our respective cliche ice cream cones, each sharing a lick here and there with the other.
To script it any better would have been quasi-impossible, because really, I think, it could get no better than that.
Daddy and daughter, just the two of us, chilling, shopping, sharing in stolen moments that come few and far between when two other siblings typically vie for the spotlight that shone only in one direction that day -- brightly where it belonged, on The Daughter Formerly Known as The Latest Addition, who as the middle child tends to have to fight just a little bit harder than the rest to get the attention she so deserves.
She got it on our unplanned day together, The DFKATLA did. And I did too, for rarely is the attention all mine when toons and toys and brothers and sisters and mothers are my main competition.
Time has taught me to take full advantage of every spare moment I can get with my children.
Time has taught me well.
Time has also taught me that when I see the 4898 digits on my call display at work, 4898 being the last four digits of my daycare's phone number, it is rarely with good reason.
Thursday afternoon, the numbers appeared unexpectedly, with a worrisome voice on the other end saying that The Daughter Formerly Known as The Latest Addition had lost her lunch all over the table and would need to be picked up, stat.
And so it is that I made my way to daycare, expecting to find a lethargic ball of a little girl when I got there, but instead picked up a little ball of energy whose petulance went beyond the boundaries of what we are normally accustomed to.
There was no sickness in that there little girl.
In any case, daycare rules stipulate that upchuckers are unwelcome for at least 24 hours after the upchucking has occurred, so unexpectedly I was treated to a surprise Friday reprieve from work, to spend in the company of my sometimes rambunctious, sometimes cantankerous, always marvellous baby girl.
It was outstanding.
We left the house bright and early, eager to get a headstart on some Christmas shopping, me and The DFKATLA, bound and determined to pack it all in, and then some, before the onslaught of moody, morose and some times malicious Christmas shoppers caught up to us.
So we bounced from store to store, way ahead of the crowds, her and I, daddy and daughter, sharing in innocent moments of fatherly-daughterly love, two people lost in a sea of shoppers, but completely, wholeheartedly, happy with their lot in life.
From here to there we went, me and The DFKATLA, sharing moments that meant nothing and everything all at once, culminating with a seat on a cliche shopping mall bench, both enjoying our respective cliche ice cream cones, each sharing a lick here and there with the other.
To script it any better would have been quasi-impossible, because really, I think, it could get no better than that.
Daddy and daughter, just the two of us, chilling, shopping, sharing in stolen moments that come few and far between when two other siblings typically vie for the spotlight that shone only in one direction that day -- brightly where it belonged, on The Daughter Formerly Known as The Latest Addition, who as the middle child tends to have to fight just a little bit harder than the rest to get the attention she so deserves.
She got it on our unplanned day together, The DFKATLA did. And I did too, for rarely is the attention all mine when toons and toys and brothers and sisters and mothers are my main competition.
Time has taught me to take full advantage of every spare moment I can get with my children.
Time has taught me well.
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