WHAT I'M LISTENING TO: A lot of the Wiggles smash CD hit "Wiggly Wiggly World", with an emphasis on the songs "Another Cuppa" and "Six Months on a Leaky Boat". The first being my son's favorite, and the last being my favorite. Yep, I got me a favorite Wiggles tune.
WHAT I'M WATCHING: MLS as the season is winding down into the final weekend. Also, keeping up with my reality shows "The Contender" and "The Ultimate Fighter 6". On the side, a heapin' helpin' of some Noam Chomsky. Plus, I finished those pesky Jeff Awards (I'll post the link elsewhere).
WHAT I'M READING: Thanks to an impatient three year old and the impending closing of the library, I quickly grabbed some books from the classic section. Right now, I'm on "The Plague" by Albert Camus. Pretty good, considering I grabbed and ran for the checkout.
WELL faithful readers (yes, the plural is completely optimistic), major things have prevented me from blogging recently. Let me break it down for you, Dung! style.
It all began a long time ago on a day the calendar likes to call Thursday October 11, 2007. I had literally just finished cooking dinner and was preparing to spoon it lovingly on a plate for my beautiful bride, I heard those three little words every man longs to hear from his sexy wife: "My water broke!"
She stood up, with Niagara Falls between her pregger legs flowing onto our carpet. Number One Son Jude immediately pointed and yelled out "She can drip on the carpet, but I can't color with my crayons on your oh-so-precious carpet, Father?!?"
Okay, that may or may-not have happened. But the water breaking did. Now, my wife is due on November 1st, and we already scheduled the c-section for October 26th, so when she called out my response was "No it didn't!"
But it did. The evidence was too overwhelming. Even the O.J. jury would convict based on it (how's that for most dated reference of any blog this year). So we gathered our things and rushed the lovely wife to the hospital. This was around 7 in the p.m. I had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, the baby was coming early.
People with actual medical degrees and stuff confirmed this around 9 pm when they said "We gonna pull that little bugger out ya." I called my mother, who was asleep (although to be fair, she was asleep by seven) and needed to remind her that we had Jude with us, and most likely the doctors would not allow a three year old into the surgery room to watch Mommy get gutted. So they came and took the boy for the night. I called the wife's family up in Michigan. They live an hour away in good weather, and being this is nearly mid-October the snow was surely falling. They outfitted me with some scrubs and a mask that wouldn't stay because the cheap-ass string kept breaking. Then I was hustled into a room just in time to see them tossing my numb-ass wife around like a rag doll (she got the spinal block so as to not feel the pain of being cut open-wussy!). I huddled up close to my pretty girl, mostly to talk to her during the surgery, but also to avoid seeing what her insides look like. At 10:21 in the p.m. they pulled our little son's legs out. At 10:21 and fifteen seconds in the p.m., he pulled the legs back into his mother's warm womb. "It's cold out there, ya stupid bastards!" he shouted.
Okay, that might not be 100% accurate. So they pulled out the boy, and much like his brother Jude before him, the boy entered this world urinating everywhere. After some cleaning, testing, and checking, I was allowed to hold my newborn son.
World, say hello to Sullivan David (last name withheld at baby's request)!
Baby was seven pounds and eleven ounces (hence that clever title) and 20.5 inches long. That made him four ounces and 1/2 and inch bigger than Jude. A beautiful head of hair. A beautiful baby.
So now our two boys are alive and well, and at home.
THE FUTURE. Quit reading now, honey. Okay, for the rest of you (I know, optimistic on my part that I have readers) I have already mapped out one exciting career path for my boys. When they are of age, I shall take them to Mexico where they shall don masks and compete in the lucha libre circuit (that's pro wrestling south of the border) under the names "El Hijo del Manaconda" and "El Hermano del El Hijo del Manaconda". The glory shall be great!
Okay, my lovely wife absolutely hates that idea. So it won't happen. But a man's gotta have a dream (especially when you doze off watching Fox Sports Espanyol and wake up to Mexican wrestling at one in the morning).
THE DIRECT KICK CHALLENGE! will return in the next blog. See, I can't update my records without it spoiling the result of last night's game, so I have to watch the game first.
Be Seeing You.
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