Double bull, triple shots

In darts, a double bull is justification for a round of shots. For Peter and David, I would have done three rounds of shots if they could just hit the board. In the end, I was pleasantly surprised that they didn't nail any stray cats or innocent children. Even without that excitement, it was still fun.

I know it was a holiday, but I really don't know what it was for. I don't pay attention to shit like that. I just know there was stand after stand full of beer, sausages and fake shark teeth.

Although most certainly a carnivore, Peter the meat eater skipped the sausage stands, waved to me as he walked past the beer stand and headed straight for the fake jewelry. We bought him a shark tooth necklace that was painted gray and he was completely in his element.

David didn't care much about what anyone else was doing. It was his first parade and he was loving the organized banging.

We watched until the drumming marchers were out of ear shot and I could swear I saw tears in the boy's eyes. Sorry, Davey - Santa has banned drums this year. It turns out, they are made from the skin of baby seals, so maybe you should just wish for a nice puzzle or a ball of yarn.

I really don't know why David is worried about Christmas, though. He should be more concerned about the resell value of coal. It's not enough that his misbehavior irritates the crap out of Angie and me twice daily. He has now moved to the next level, which brings the neighbors into our happy little circle of annoyance.

For a while, the neighbors wondered how their cherry tomato plants could be growing so well, yet yield nothing. I discovered David in the garden with a mouthful of guilt and felt like Scooby-Doo, just without the Mystery Machine. I didn't need it, though. The mystery was solved for me; of course I kept shrugging shoulders at our baffled neighbors.

When I confronted David with his thievery, he informed me that it was the 'weedman' who stole them. He then went on to explain that he was 'saving' the harvest by storing them in his belly so that the 'weedman' couldn't find them.

I thought the boy had completely lost his mind until I saw this dude on the street.

David threw a coin in his bucket and I screamed 'Stop eating our garden, weed-freak!'. People passing by just stared, but being a blog-celebrity, I am used to this.

When we got home, Tommy Corleone whispered something into David's ear.

'The tomatoes - I know it was you, David. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!'

I don't know where the Godfather was during all of this, but the Godmother was teaching Tommy how to read.

Okay, it was a picture book, so all-in-all...not that impressive. I mean, come on, Barb. I like the comic section, but every now and then, I read the front page.

What was impressive is that Tom can now walk. He started a few days ago and went from zero to one in no time at all.

I will admit that he looks like a drunken pirate when he stumbles about. I will also admit that he looks like a tranquilized monkey seconds before it drops. I will also admit that I have to stop there for a lack of other fitting comparisons.

Our other two drunken pirate monkeys were far from tranquil.

They were high on a treasure-hunt adrenaline rush triggered by the Godfather himself. For some reason, Sami actually wanted our boys to come over to his house and destroy things while looking for his loot. Ask and you shall receive.

It started out with Sami and a simple map.

Sami is excellent with maps, especially after his recent road trip to Austria (inside joke), but driving maps are slightly different than treasure maps.

As Peter and David tried to decipher Sami's crayon scribbles, Tom was busy yanking Lauri around.

Lauri didn't like this one bit and he ordered me to put Tommy in the trash can. After years with Angie, I have given up on disobeying, no matter how silly the request is.

This was hilarious until I overlooked Newton's law of gravity and Tom toppled over. Tom screamed like a kid who had been thrown in a trash can that was then kicked over. Luckily, Tom gets his thick skull from Mama.

The boys eventually found the Finnish jackpot and celebrated by eating chocolate eggs and sugary loot. I was still feeling really bad about dropping Tommy on his head again, so I went to the pub and played darts.

I didn't get a double bull, but I at least hit the board. I also managed to miss all of the stray cats and innocent children hanging out in the pub, so I felt we deserved the triple shot.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Sebastian and Chiara today.
David: When I played with Peter animals.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David hit me on my hand on the side with his fists.
David: When I cried 'cause I wanted that red, but I cannot - really!

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go and get a dinosaur.
David: Play with my pirate ship there up on the blue box.

What a difference a month makes

If you look closely, you are sure to find leg hair. This clearly rules out me as the person holding the goofy-looking kid sporting a bottle-opener and crazy hair. The only hairy-legged creature in the Zoo is ... well, I won't name names, but I think you understand why I make her wear the pants.

Speaking of hairy behinds, there's no way around it - I'm behind with the blog. Big time. At work, we have been experimenting with the concept of 'tacks', probably 'cause some important executive sailor-type needs a third yacht. Doesn't matter - the idea is simple. You take a year-long project and cram it into three-week sprints. Here's mine. And people say I have no tact.

We had Angie's piano delivered on the same day that Lilly had her first sleep over at the Zoo.

Looking at this picture, I have to say that it's a damn good thing Lilly is not allergic to dust. It's good for our boys, too, since I would have either had to leave Angie or put the boys up for adoption a long time ago. Don't get me wrong, Angie does clean; she just understands the whole 'spring cleaning' thing to be a once-a-year ritual that may or may not take place.

The guy that came to tune the piano was not amused, though. He smeared a disapproving finger through the muck as he sat down. When he opened up 'ole Dusty, he almost had a heart attack. I wasn't there, but Angie told me how the guy forced her to come from the other room and pointed at the inside of our new noisemaker.

'Do you see that?!'

'The piano? Yup, there it is.'

'No! There! Right there! Do you see that? Those are MOUSE DROPPINGS!'

I felt bad that the piano dude almost had a coronary over some mouse shit, but I still cracked up. Angie didn't. Instead, she began a cleaning frenzy that ended up with Lilly polishing my shoes. What?

That's right - we showed Lilly the fine art of making shoes shine. She actually quite liked it, so I wanted to see if Lilly wanted to play a game called 'let's build Mama a deck', but Angie was quick to point out that I was a few weeks late on that fun endeavour.

Instead, I gave Lilly the chore of building a colossal piece of Lego with David.

Lego must mean never having to say you're sorry. For those not old enough to get the reference, go and rent 'The Love Story'. Unless you have a penis, it was a great flick; just totally unrealistic. I constantly say 'I'm sorry' to Angie, but she still loves me. Check it out.

Either she's got a weird-ass cheek thing going on or she digs me the most. Either way, I'm not sorry.

Speaking of sorry, look at these poor saps. Peter was either about to karate chop David's nose or he is trying out that trick where you rub your belly and pat your head. Doesn't matter - Dalia was impressed. Yeah. Me, too. Wow.

As Dalia was off being swooned by sunglasses and nifty coordination tricks, Tommy was busting out his moves all over Brian's lawn decorations.

'What? Don't look at me that way. I'm not the only one-year old to have a thing for statues, am I?'

Speaking of weird creatures, Angie recently returned to the land of the working. Here is one of the first 'goodbyes' before Tommy quickly realized that waving bye-bye to Mama equalled Mama actually leaving.


At least he was in good hands. I mean, Ute is no statue, but somehow Tom managed to cope.


Being the third kid is always rough. Peter can already whistle and clap. Tom must have felt a little under-impressed and tried showing off.

Peter was the first to point out that whistling with a device DOES NOT COUNT. This strict adherence to the rules of whistling probably stems from me. I'm guessing I should not have laughed at his inept ability to whistle for the last five years. Damn, that was some funny shit, though.

To fill the void, I thought I would crack up by getting Peter to try and build stuff.

As it turns out, Peter is quite skilled in the fine art of IKEA. I can honestly say that this must come from Opa. I changed a light bulb once years ago, but I don't think that contributed to the genetic pool that Peter swam in for nine months.

So, what was Mama doing as Peter helped me decipher Swedish pict-o-instructions?

Cleaning house, of course. Angie style. Hey, whatever pops your bubble. When it comes to bubbly stuff, Peter, David and Dalia know what tickles the nose the best.

I swear to you, Coca Cola should be paying me BIG BUCKS for such well-placed products. But hey - if they don't want to cash in and target both of my readers, it's their loss.

Peter and David were all about losing when it came to a bucket race against Artin. I'm just glad there was no cash or coke involved.

In their defense, I've never practiced racing around in trashcans. I try to teach them sensible things, like how to blow ginormous bubbles.

So far, Tommy can only blow spit bubbles, but he has obviously picked up a few eating tips from Mama.

We were all a little worried that inhaling chocolate would not be enough to guarantee that Tommy's belly would grow to be big and round like Papa's. Opa came to the rescue with a sure-fire substitue that put everyone at ease. Look, Mom - no hands!

Mama babbled something about liver damage and how incredibly sexy I am, but I was only half-listening. I mean, come on! He's got a freakin' bottle opener in his mouth - let the boy use it! Angie then made a few choice remarks that reminded me to buy her a few dresses for Christmas.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When Davey say Shampoo by the Ladder Talk for Sharpur.
David: When we saw Dalia and Artin and Arman and Shayeste and Shampoo.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Davey is bugging me all the whole day!
David: When I bonked mine, I goed with one to the other one and then went whoosh-aah-bonk and then I cry.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To find a dinosaur in the garden.
David: When we go in the bath and I splash Peter all in the face 'cause he not like that funny.

Sink or drown

NOTE TO MY TWO NAGGY READERS: I am aware that, despite the date of this blog, I am further behind than I have ever been with the Zoo's news. Deal with it, I'm a Johnson; keep pissing me off and I'll go dark until Christmas.

You'll hopefully be happy to know that I'm not dead. I was also not off on some exotic six week luxury cruise. Nor was I on one of those green missions to hug trees and save frogs from the rain forest. So, where the hell have you been for the last month and a half, you ask? Well, you know what? You curious types should just go murder a cat and get it over with.

The inconvenient truth is - I've been busy. At work, at home - even the freakin' commute between the two has been unpeaceful. It all started on this day when Angie went back to work. Damn her - why can't she just stay in the kitchen where she....oh, that's right, never mind. Congrats on the whole 're-joining society' thing, sugar plum.

I will be the first person to admit that when Angie told me she was going back to teaching - I was tickled fuchsia. There are several reasons for this, which I will send to you, bullet-style:

• More money. Lot's of it. We're re-yach, bitch!


• Less gossip. Somehow, I pictured having fewer coffee mugs and cake crumbs to clean up if Gossip Central lost their beautiful host.


• More dialogue. I was so ready to get rid of the nightly updates like 'Tommy said 'jasdhfljkas' today - doesn't that sound soooo much like 'Mama'? No, actually. Next time, just say 'God bless you' like normal humans.

Reality must be Murphy's bitchy little sister. At least she has a sense of humor; she laughed her ass off at my list and came up with her own:

• More money. Ah, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen. You really do know how to make me laugh. Have you ever actually sat down and gone through your finances? Apparently not. Had you done so, you would have certainly realized that Angie's fifteen hours a week almost brings in enough to cover babysitting.


• Less gossip. Stephen, you dim-witted nimrod. Lady chats are like bills - they won't go away, no matter how wishful your thinking is.


• More dialogue. Wow, you really are a feebleminded idiot. Did you perhaps forget that she is teaching LITTLE KIDS? You're still going to get the endless spatter of disgustingly cute things the children did that day, only now the minute-by-minute recounts will be about kids that you have never even seen. Bravo.

Anywho, back to Angie's first day. Because we are the Johnson's, we of course had no babysitters lined up for Angie's big day. We did, of course, know it was coming; we just chose to ignore the fact that someone might actually need to watch Tom as Angie was bashing kids with Nerf balls or whatever the hell it is she does at these places they call 'school'.

I love being the last pick, especially if it's for a suicide mission. After striking out with three sitters who, surprise-surprise, could not sit on Tom with only 24 hours notice, I was volunteered to take vacation to resolve the dilemma. I can dishonestly say that I'm really glad that I was able to use these so-called 'vacation' days doing something fun, relaxing, and stress-free like babysitting Tom. You know, 'me time'.

To add misery to fun, Peter was sick, so he stayed home with me. I am quite sure that I was his last pick for people to watch over him while he was ill, but I showed no signs of actually giving a shit. Instead, I told him that we were going to do a science experiment as soon as Tom took his nap.

'Wooooaaaahhh! Yeaaaaahh! An askpearament! Should I get my goggles?'

'It's called an 'experiment' and you need to stop screaming. I'm trying to get Tom to go to sleep.'

'GREAT. SLEEP. YEAH, PAPA!!! ARE WE GOING TO BLOW UP SOMETHING?'

'First of all, shut up; Tom is almost asleep. Second, we are not blowing up anything - Mama yelled at me BIG TIME the last time we tried that. We are going to throw a bunch of stuff into water and see if it floats or sinks.'

Tom eventually fell asleep and the 'askpearament' went great. Peter learned that apples, peppers, bananas and cucumbers all float. Limes, potatoes, raisins, and Tom do not. Man, I should be a teacher.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we do that askpearament with the fruit.
David: I go by Grams and Opa and stayed there for sleep.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Davey was by Grams and Opa and not more here.
David: When I cried for the green frog.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: When I'm going to play with you something.
David: When I every time go to kindergarten.

Generation Smackdown

Nothing like a headbutt from Tommy to start your Sunday. At least Opa seemed to enjoy his; I didn't. But then again, mine came at four o'clock in the morning by a weird looking kid with only six teeth who thoroughly enjoyed the 'surprised-angry' faces that Papa was making. Even Mama woke up long enough to laugh at me before both her and Zidane Jr. fell asleep again, leaving me to seriously reconsider our sleeping arrangements as I ice-packed my nose.

At least Peter and David sleep in every now and then. Okay, bullshit. David doesn't; he still gets up at dawn-thirty. The scary thing is - he's very quiet. After following the trail of candy wrappers littering the hallway and finding a kid that looked like he had french-kissed a tin of shoe-polish, it became clear.

As the sugar buzz gripped hold of him, stealthy Dave wasn't so silent anymore. Peter snored his ass off as David began dancing on his bed and wailing like a banshee. Aw, isn't that cute? Peter must take after Mama.

It doesn't take much to wake a hibernating bear if you know the right technique. After cohabitating with a grizzly woman for almost ten winters, I'm like freakin' Dan Haggerty, just without the disgusting beard that a flock of birds could nest in.

Like some Indian snake charmer in reverse, I awoke Peter with a single word: Carnival.

Carnival can mean a lot of things to different weirdos. For me, it means having carny folk with less teeth than Tommy charge me 10 bucks for blowing up a balloon that I could normally buy for 10 cents. For Peter and David, it means 'The Swing Ride'.

As David was preparing for what would surely be the biggest high of his day since raiding the candy bowl while Mama and Papa snoozed away the sunrise, Peter was getting a little nervous about the safety of his ride.

'Papa, look! This bar can go up.'

'Yeah, please don't show David that.'

'But what if I fly out?'

'Well, if you do, make sure and land in those bushes over there.'

'Papa!'

'Sorry, buddy - the ride's starting. My advice....don't lift the bar.'

You might wonder where Mama was during all this fatherly chit-chat with Mr. Safety. Strangely enough, Peter kept asking the same question. Well, she was busy having a cup of gossip with Barbara. The good news is - Peter did not fly to his death from 'The Swing Ride'.

Peter the Brave was on such an adrenaline roll after surviving 'The Death Swing' that he chose the 'Dragon of Terror' as his next ride. It was a roller coaster that David loved because it was red. And it was a dragon.


David was not so happy that it went slightly faster than a snail being chased by a caterpillar, but Peter somehow managed to still have fun. At least David got to pick the next ride.


I was a little surprised to see David riding in the front. Somehow, I have always pictured him riding in the back of a paddy wagon. His fascination with the police probably has to do with him wanting to carry a nightstick, which ain't gonna happen under this roof.

Speaking of rooves, check out where David's 10-dollar SpongeBob balloon ended up after a whopping four minutes of telling him to hold onto the damn thing.


I laughed. He cried. Peter freaked out and ran inside to announce to Grams and Opa, along with half of the restaurant, that David's balloon was stuck in the gutter. Thanks, Dan Rathers - now back to Jane for the weather.

The weather was slightly overcast with a slight chance of Angie freaking out on her Dad because he commented that Tom had dropped a spoon and she was starting her new job the next day. You don't need to tell me that this makes no sense at all; I live with her. Welcome to my world. Okay, to be fair to Angie the stickler, it was David, not Tom, who dropped the spoon. But thanks for ignoring the black clouds, Opa.

If there was a black cloud over David's brain, it would have read: 'Dude, where's my balloon?'


I could tell you, but it's probably easier if you just look at the picture before last. Peter was very sympathetic, though, which I initially thought was rather mature of him.

'Dude, check out my new transformer car! It's almost as cool as your SpongeBob balloon... hey, where is that again? Oh, that's right - you lost it. Too bad. I tied my Spiderman balloon to the stroller, so I still have mine. You can smell it if you want.'


Tommy also felt really bad. So bad, in fact, that he had Barb help him write a 'Dude, don't feel so bad about your balloon' card.

It read:

'Dude, I'm actually not sorry about your balloon. I know I probably should be, but you see - the last time you sat on my head - that time when you were laughing like a freakin' lunatic - I think you may have inadvertently damaged my 'I-give-a-shit' brain cells. I'm sure this was not intentional and that you would probably be sorry about that if it weren't for the fact that Peter sat on your head when you were young and full of 'I-give-a-shit' brain cells like me before you sat on me. Opa taught me a little trick, though, and Dude - if you come near me again, I am going to headbutt you into next Sunday.'
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
[No ladder talk for Davey - he spent the night with Grams and Opa for some one-on-one headbutting lessons]
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I get a balloon from Spiderman.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't play Spiderman with David 'cause he is sleeping by Grams and Opa.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to play with you an experiment to see what floats and what not floats.

IKEA vs. The Deck (round one)

Peter and David are laughing their asses off because some sexy Alpha male with a hairy rack had just rocketed them towards some goofy looking blonde with a camera at warp speed with no breaks. Papa is laughing his ass off because he was successfully able to avoid building a deck in our apartment by buying a bunch of really big IKEA shelving units. Angie should be happy just knowing the disaster and chaos she avoided by not giving me the task of building something complicated like a deck. Angie rarely does what she should, though. Instead, she was still pouting, so I had to try and run her over with a shopping cart, using my children as human shields, of course.

Why does Angie need a deck? She doesn't, actually; a better question would be why does Angie think she needs a deck? It all boils down to a three-month freak-out festival that Angie kicked off about....oh,...three months ago. If you don't ask Angie for her side of my truth, it went something like this.

'I got the job! I got the job! You're the hottest husband to ever live! I got the job!'

'That's great. How much will you make?'

'I don't know.'

'How many hours will you work?'

'I, uh...I didn't think to ask.'

'Do they provide daycare?'

'Mmmm...those are all very interesting questions, but can we just focus on the deck for a second.'

'The what?'

'Don't you listen to anything I tell you?'

'You mean like how I asked you to find out how much you would be making, how many hours you would be working and whether or not they provide daycare? No, I guess I don't. I'm sorry, how stupid of me. What deck?'

'What deck? WHAT DECK??!! Aaaarrrgghh! What is wrong with you? Have you been drinking?'

'No, but I'm thinking about starting now.'

We have 'high' ceilings, which means you could technically cut the room in half and make two floors. Angie's brilliant plan was to build a loft in Tom's room so that she could have a great big teacher's playhouse in the sky for all of her school shit that's been collecting dust in the basement for the last year. Who's the one that's been drinking?

When confronted with nonsensical nagging, I tend to 'duck and move' and generally try to avoid the source. This is not easy when the source is the woman that you've married and now lives with you, but somehow I managed for two months, three weeks and six days. On the seventh day, all hell broke loose.

'Nag the nag haven't you nagged anynag about the nagging deck?'

'Um, Charlie Brown called - he wants his teacher back.'

'That is not naggin' funny, nag it! I am so nagged with you right now. You nag what? Nag it! I don't even wanna nag about it anynag. I'm going to the naggin store and I'm going to nagging buy a big nagging closet and you're going to nag it for me.'

'Honey, you're not making sense again; do you want to breathe into a paper bag or something?'

'Nag your nag-hole. Let's go, bring your credit card.'

So that's the long version of how we ended up at IKEA on this fine Saturday morning. And, unless you're the naggy type, you will completely understand why I was SO happy to be shopping at IKEA and not strapping on the tool belt that I don't own and probably never will.

In our (ha, ha --> Angie's) panicky rush to get to the store and buy a deck substitute, we somehow forgot to feed the boys. We also forgot to bring baby food, but IKEA is like some magical wonderland with mystical sounding furniture names and free baby food. Let me repeat that for fellow poor saps out there with babies - they give away FREE baby food. Make sure to bring your own lid and you can bring the jar home with you.

IKEA must be owned by a couple of parents that were completely fed up with all the not kid-friendly stores. In the cafeteria, they had a bar where you could eat and instead of liquor and a bartender, they had a play area where you could watch over your kids as you eat and wish that there was really a bartender on-call.

After watching the kids squish each other like bugs, we somehow lost our appetite and decided to take the kids to the store playground, another great IKEA perk that helps alleviate the credit card pains.

In case you forgot, David had his cast removed yesterday. In case you're really forgetful, he broke his leg in a pool of plastic balls at an indoor playground. At IKEA, they also have a pool of plastic balls, so Angie and I were slightly reluctant to allow David to join Peter.

'David, if we let you....hey! look at me when I'm talking to you...if we let you in there, you have to promise NOT to...look at me...you can NOT jump in the plastic balls. You can go in the pool, but you can't...LOOK at me....you can NOT jump in. Okay?'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah - I go now? - yeah, yeah, uh-huh, yeah, sure. I go now, okay?'

'No, no, no...wait a minute. Repeat what we just said.'

'That I no go BOOM in the big pool, okay? I sit and go no BOOM, okay?'

'Okay. Peter - listen, you're in charge. Make sure David doesn't jump in the balls. Have fun, guys.'

At the indoor playground at IKEA, there is a big glass window so that you can spy on your kids as they run around. Peter knew this and came running up to give us a knock goodbye.

If you look in the background you will see David knee-deep in the ball pit. What you can't tell from this still photograph is that 'lightning-speed Davey' went streaking as fast as he could from the drop-off point to the pool of balls and jumped as high as he possibly could to land in the pit on his freshly healed foot.

David climbed out crying and ran to Peter for comfort. It was then that Davey realized that we had witnessed what was almost the second-breaking of his foot, which now hurt, for some strange reason. Peter panicked before we could even blame him for shucking his task of making sure that David didn't do what David did. It wasn't me, I didn't do, I told him to stop, my cat pushed him, it wasn't me - I am so sorrrrryyy!!


Okay, whatever. Almost every IKEA trip so far has ended in tears, whining and nagging. If it wasn't my wallet, it was one, two, or three of the kids, and more often than not, Angie joined in.

'You got the beige one, right? You didn't get the black one, 'cause the black nag would just nag horrible next to the brown nag. Hey! Are you rolling your nags at me?'

As cute as Angie can be, sometimes you just have to throw her in the trunk and crank up the speakers in the back.


I thought that Angie loved the ride and rather enoyed ducking every time I shouted 'POLICE'. Turns out, she didn't find it so amusing.

'Oh, verrrryyy funnnyy. If you ever nag me in the nag like that again, I'm going to naggin' nag you. Now get me the nag out of here and go nag my beautiful nag.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: To play with those shopping carts.
David: When we ride on the shopping cart super-fast, zoom!

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I didn't saw the tapir.
David: When I cried 'cause you was by the store and I miss you.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: When we play football.
David: Play with Peter Little Einstein's.

Me, my foot, and I

After having his toes ferment in a sweat bath for a few weeks, it might look like David is just thrilled to have his cast off and say 'hello' to his long-lost digits. Actually, I am pretty sure that Davey was just trying to hang those puppies out the window so that he could breathe. It's bad enough when your own funk causes you to gag; it's even worse when you're only three.

The morning started out with Peter feeling sorry for David. Ah, poor little kid with the stinky foot; I'll go sit with him and try and cheer him up.

'Hey, I know - how about we go to the playground. It's right next door, so at least you won't have far to hobble.'

'Thanks, Peter. When we get there, do you think you could help me get up on the swing?'

'Sure, but I'm not going to actually push you. I'm just going laugh my ass off as you fruitlessly struggle to get momentum with that dead weight you're wearing as a leg warmer. Then I might climb on top of that house over there and show off the cool T-shirt that Susan gave me - not you.'

'Ah, okay. You do realize that I get my cast off today and will be fully able to chase your ass down, right? Doesn't matter, I'll beat that point into you later. Hey Grams! Opa! Can you come push me?'

'Oh, I see. You're too busy with Tom. That's okay; he's got a few lessons coming his way as well. Hey, Tommy! When I get this thing off, you're going to regret being so cute.'

'Speak to the hand, Davey, cause your foot aint kicking yet! '

All in all, I think everyone enjoyed David's unfortunate immobility, but all good things must come to an end at some point. That point was today, when Mama took David to get his cast removed. It was just Mama, since everyone else was scared shitless of just how much energy would be released when the cast came off.

Either Angie is wise beyond her years, which is so hard to imagine that it cracks me up, or she was such a complete ditz that she forgot to bring David's 'other' shoe.

Either way, it did manage to slow Davey down. Slightly. He hopped his way to the car and climbed up into his seat.

'Roll down the window and take me to Peter.'
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Sebastian and Marie Spiderman.
David: When I have my cast off.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I wanted to tell you something, but you was by work.
David: 'Cause I wanted to get a drink out, but you say no.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play Spiderman with Sebastian and Marie.
David: Play with Peter and maybe Tom 'cause he a baby.

Who the HELL gave David a hammer?

If you look closely and you're not blind, you will see that there are actually two boxes. The one on top is empty. The one on the bottom is not. David was beating the crap out of the top box with a meat tenderizer. Enough foreshadowing for you?

Yes, Destructo Dave proved his namesake yet again. After finishing his cute little bashing frenzy on the first box, unsupervised Davey went completely ballistic on the second one. For the memory-challenged readers, the second box was the one with the undented IKEA furniture anxiously waiting to be built before some kid with a meat hammer discovered it. Honey, why is David giggling and who gave him a weapon?

But I get ahead of myself. Before the Tale of Two Boxes came the story of the kindergarten Prince and his pyjama sunrise with la Principessa.

Chiara and Peter woke up this morning and played cards. Cute - makes you want to gag, but cute. Alessio woke up and there was no getting that boy's stomach away from the table. Uh, how do you say 'tapeworm' in Italian? David woke up with bed-head and probably just sat there thinking 'hey, what could I destroy with a meat hammer if Mama and Papa were stupid enough to let me have one?'

Breakfast made Mama's brain sleepy enough to think that she could lay down for a five minute snooze.

It's not surprising that David was the one who volunteered to jump on Mama's head and yank her ear to confirm what a stupid idea that was. What is alarming, though, is the tiny blur in the background. Tom had found a stick with a ball on the end of it and for some reason began re-enacting the Korean convenience store scene from 'Falling Down' all over Mama's legs. In a tag-team match, I think David would pick Tom.

After a good Mama-lashing, nothing hits the spot more than five minutes in the cooler.

Okay, I am not even going to try and explain this one. I can tell you, though, that I will not be eating any of the cold cuts.

Tom's freaky eating habits were not restricted to the privacy of our own home. At IKEA, Tommy Tarzan publicly wowed the shopping world with his new banana trick.


When Tom does stupid things like this, three things normally follow. First, David cracks up. I mean he really loses it; eye-tearing, gut-clutching, snot-blowing, down-on-the-floor full-on hysterical outburst. Second, Papa cracks up, pretty much in the same fashion and order, only I tend to add a certain degree of flatulence to the scene. Third, Angie turns into a mean version of Puff and starts hyperventilating fire on me. My only defensive response was that I was laughing at the fact that David was laughing and not necessarily at Tom. Ow, fire burns.

Peter was feeling a burn of different sorts after mistakenly getting within arm's reach of David's scratching hand.

We had all three boys in one oversized IKEA shopping cart. It wasn't oversized enough, though. At one point, David marked out his own personal space by scratching a prison tattoo on Peter's chest. Peter of course screamed like a little girl for twenty minutes. After that, though, he seemed quite proud of his 'flesh wound' and even forced me to take a picture of it. Here you go, Rambo.

After searing Peter's gash with a blow torch, we decided to treat the wounded to ice-cream. Tom loved the ice-cream, but did not comprehend nor did he accept the simple fact that when you devour the entire cone in three seconds flat, there is no more ice-cream.


It was at this point that wise Papa called an end to Mama's shop-a-thon and rounded up the Zoo Crew for a short ride home and a long bath to bed. At least, that was my idea.

My Bath, Bed and Beyond plan had several minor faults in it. The first being that David's leg was in a freakin' cast. I didn't care, though. The boy stunk. Bad. Plus, I had Saran Wrap and duct tape and was fully willing to ignore the doctor's advice to not give him a bath. What the hell does he know anyway - he's just a doctor.


Even David was cracking up as I wrapped him up.

'Papa, this no work, okay? I go not in the bath.'

'Trust me; I know what I'm doing. I broke my arm once and I bathed.'

The funny thing is, a broken arm that is in a cast wrapped in Saran Wrap and duct tape doesn't get nearly as wet as other appendages that actually get completely submerged in water. Like feet.

I think we are trying to break (get it?) a new record for how many times a cast can be reset before it heals. The day after David broke his foot, it itched. This resulted in Angie walking into his bedroom to find that he had 'scratched' his cast into crumbles. Cast number two came off several days later when the doctor had to confirm that his foot was still broken. It was. Brilliant. Thanks, Doc. Cast number four was actually the end result of my attempt at de-stinkafying Dirty Dave.

He smelled great, but the doctor took one look at my make-shift cast after destroying cast number three and began asking a bunch of really stupid questions.

'Is that duct tape?'

'Yes.'

'What is that wrapped around? Did you use a ... is that a kitchen towel?'

'Yes.'

'You didn't try giving him a bath, did you?'

'Yes.'

I wish the Hippocratic Oath also included a clause that prevented doctors from making you feel like an ass. Although this would probably prevent Angie from ever entering the medical field, and since we need to get our options open, I kept my mouth shut.

Meanwhile, back at the Zoo, the animals were getting restless. To try and make them more restful, we invited Daniel over for what turned out to be a childish card game. Just my style.

The game was progressing along nicely when Peter decided to amaze Daniel with his ability to fart from his armpit. I'm sorry, I don't care how old I get - that shit is funny. I cracked up and looked over at Angie, who was frowning. Then she huffed and glared at me again. This honestly made me laugh harder and then she began really scowling in my general direction. When we finally made eye contact, she quickly darted her eyes to the sofa. Enough foreshadowing for you?
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played Queen cards with Daniel.
David: When we played that with the cards with Daniel.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Davey scratch me.
David: When I cried 'cause I heared not when you tell me stop and I in trouble.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with you and Mama and Tom and Davey surprise maker.
David: To play Mama and Baby, where Peter is the baby 'cause he is.