When Her Face Gets Long...

I dropped the Meatball off at DAYCARE for the last time today.

$68,000 worth of days and care.

A Lincoln Navigator's worth of TLC.

Each and every single copper coin well spent.

First the Monkey and now the Meatball.

Both now chapters in a book not yet finished. Every page read, carefully  torn from the binding and folded up into imperfect, little, paper airplanes that forever glide above a wind that has no clear destination.

Running races to the door. So many running races. I let them win every single one.

The Starbucks is right next door.

Winters accompanied by steaming hot Grandes. Summers flush with Iced Ventis.

The kid behind the counter knows my name. I didn't even say goodbye.

Will he wonder where I've gone?

I'd like to think he will.

This day took forever to arrive. Like a final exam, I couldn't wait for it to end. Summer on the otherside, if I could just make it till then.

If you don't stay in the moment, if you don't stay right smack dab in the middle of the God Damn running races, time will pass you in the HOV lane like an angry Taxi.

The Meatball graduates from Preschool today and I suppose I do too.

Both of us passed that final exam after all and as promised, the summer was waiting on the other side.

The Meatball's face is still round. A sure sign that we still have time.

Time to procrastinate.

Time to prepare.

Time to study for the next final exam.

The Monkey's face was round too once.

When the face gets long, the innocence begins to fade.

An observation that seems like fact as far as I can tell.

This is how you tell time as a parent. Just watch the face. Watch it like you would a flower, blooming in time lapse.

It seems slow but it wants to trick you.

The Meatball's face is still round.

I'm going to watch it like a flower starting right now...

Counting My Blessings...

1. Twenty little painted toenails.

2. Long fluttering eyelashes attached to four puppy dog eyes.

3. Two mischievous smiles.

4. Endless parades of kisses.

5. Dance recitals.

6. Holding hands crossing the street.

7. Snuggling on the couch.

8. Bedtime stories.

9. Uncontrollable giggles.

10. Tears of Joy.

11. Princess costumes.

12. Playing family.

13. Mounds of stuffed animals.

14. Pink (the color).

15. Smiley faces, Peace signs and Hearts.

16. Pictures on the refrigerator.

17. Helping with homework.

18. A renewed appreciation for cupcakes.

19. Freckled cheeks.

20. Swing sets

21. Are we there yet?

22. Scraped knees and elbows to kiss and make better.

23. Being needed.

24. Being Wanted.

25. Being Loved.

26. Fatherhood.

If it weren't for my kids, I'd be celebrating useless, lazy, selfish, asshole person day.

Today I'm counting my blessings.

The Dick Boomerang...

Anthony Weiner hurls his wang across the Internet like a dick boomerang. It flutters through cyberspace, splitting virtual hoohas in two. It travels safely home from it's elliptical journey, returning to the hand from which it had flung.

The TV, newspapers and interwebz are saturated with wiener jokes.

It's pretty incredible.

How can a guy with the name Weiner, be involved in a dick scandal?

Weinergate.

Fantastic!

Harold Camping must be fuming over this whole ordeal. If only he had predicted this as the first sign of the Rapture, instead of the earthquakes.

It's so hard to deliver on the promise of a global scale earthquake. The stars really need to align.

But a dick scandal involving a politician? It's as if you can't spit these days without hitting a dick scandal.

I'm assuming that this is the first Dad Blog to use both the words spit and dick in the same sentence.

I am not proud nor am I ashamed.

I am in bed, laying on a heating pad with a bad back.

My wife is asleep next to me.

She is a loud breather.

My daughters are sleeping in our room tonight. They are on the floor. I can hear them breathing as well.

I will not fall asleep tonight. It is impossible with all of the breathing.

I would imagine that this is how Zeppo felt on any given night, when lying awake on his steel cot, listening to Chico, Harpo, Groucho and Gummo.

A chorus of breath.

I suppose this gives me good reason to Tweet my junk out onto the internet?

Do guys really do that sort of thing?

Does your first name have to be Dick or your last name Johnson?

Is this sort of thing considered self fulfilling prophecy?

Why doesn't the word prophecy come up in spell check?

Do any of us really give a shit about this guy's wiener?

Is it just me or were his pecs really cut for a Jewish guy?

I deserve some credit.

I could have easily thrown my wiener on Facebook tonight, just because.

LOOKOUT!!!

There goes another Dick Boomerang...

This post is dedicated to the Penis Enlargement websites that have bought text link ads on my homepage. Without you, all of this would not be possible. Thank you for believing in me when no other respectable brands would. By the way, I know a guy that would be a great spokesman and I have a sneaking suspicion he'll be looking for work in the near future.