Day two

Alright, this was not the relaxing day that Sunday was. Not nearly the amount of chilling and no basketball or golf to watch. I had to work. Yes, I'm a whining like a big baby. It was a beautiful day, and all I could think about was when I was going to be done and get to the golf course. I did drag myself to the course for a quick 9 this afternoon.

Let me tell you that getting up in the morning and having to only get myself ready and out the door was very choice. No one to get to school or make breakfast for. Not having to get dressed in the dark. Didn't have to be quiet so that I don't wake Conner or Maggie. I normally wake Cathy, and she's generally not happy about that. I actually had time to sit and drink a cup of coffee and watch Sportscenter with the volume up. I am setting the clock a little later because I had too much time to kill this morning before leaving for work.

I have gotten several texts from "She who must be obeyed." Most of them were "We are going to the beach" or "Going shopping." My brother-in-law is going fishing with a world-class guide in the a.m. I know it's a world class guide because he told me a couple of times (4) this afternoon. Now, these messages are designed to make me jealous. NOT. I'm good and playing golf again Tuesday.

Day one of Big Daddy's vacation

Day one started with getting the wife and kids out the door so that I can get to the scheduled tee time. In the words of General Tommy Franks, "Mission Accomplished." We were on the first tee before she and the kids left the state. The golf was good - not great, but good. Can't remember the last time I had the chance to play golf with no one immediately related to me in this state. Cathy called me a couple of times, and I didn't feel guilty once. This was a first. Just for the record, she landed in south Florida safely.

I had an executive lunch (couple of beers and an entree). Also for the record, the word couple can mean 2 or 6 - take your pick. I came back and watched Louisville get kicked in the mouth. My bracket is screwed more so now than before.

Just got a call from Cathy. It's 86 degrees, and the low tonight in south Florida is in the 60s. Also just got a text from my brother-in-law. He is there as well with his family. Contents of the text are confidential. Trust me, he is not impressed with me right now.

My evening will end soon, but not before I sit quietly on the deck with a glass of cold beer and a very good cigar. I'm the coolest person I know. Except for Cathy's Uncle Dave, who is dealing with my children as we speak. Still love ya, Dave.

"Do I have to jump?"

Over the past week I have been telling Conner that he's going to Florida on Sunday and that he will be taking his first plane ride. Mostly, I've been holding it over his head when he does something wrong. Almost every day he has asked me if he'll have to jump out of the plane. Everytime I tell him, no it will land, and you can walk out of the plane. No worries, you will have a great time. I answer his question and he moves on.

Yesterday the question changed a touch. "Dad, when I jump out of the plane and land on the street, will I get hit by a car?" I was standing there and had no idea what to say when Abbey looked him dead in the face and said "Probably" and walked away. Conner looked at me and said, "That's not gonna be good."

Today, Cathy finally told me why he has been asking this question. For two months now, he's been watching an episode of "iCarly" that Maggie recorded, and in that episode they have to parachute out of a plane. And we were worried about him watching the news.

Ready to go

Conner informed me when he got up today that he has already packed for our trip (we leave tomorrow). He has Legos, his bear (also named Conner), a toothbrush and a shoe. Yes, a shoe.

He packs like his father, who always forgets something major when we go on a trip. He once went to Florida with one pair of shoes: bucks (like these). Even then, wearing bucks with shorts wasn't a good fashion statement.

Not the exit he hoped for

After sending Conner to his room, there's nothing funnier than watching him try to slam the door, only to have to do it six times before it finally shuts.

Great quotes

"Beer will get you through hard times without money better than money will get through good times without beer"

"On the eighth day God created beer to keep the Irish from taking over the world"

Countdown begins

81 hours and 30 minutes. That is how long I have until my vacation. My wife and children are going to south Florida for 5 days during spring break. Cathy has completely lost her mind to take three kids to Florida by herself, but I'll be damned if I am arguing with her. I am staying home because I have to "work."

Yes, I am looking forward to this. I am completely prepared for this break in the action. The second I leave work each day I'm playing golf. I am eating meals in a restaurant booth or in the living room out of styrofoam. I have a stack of takeout menus the thickness of a Tom Clancy novel. I'm not cooking anything. I will have complete control of the remote. I've called the cable company to have them block all channels with cartoons or pre-teen shows. Quicker browsing is very important.

Cathy has a list of things that she would like to have done to the house in their absence. My list is a little different. I'm gonna sleep in the middle of the bed, leave a wet towel on the bathroom floor, drink milk directly from the gallon jug, not listen to Jesse McCarthey or Miranda Cosgrove on YouTube, leave my golf clubs in the living room and not do any laundry. I most sincerely will miss my wife and kids, and several people have informed me that I will go insane with the silence. That ain't gonna happen.

How men clean

Everyone is cutting back in one way or the other these days. I decided to do my part for our family. Conner and I decided today that we were going to clean out the van. We cleaned out all the papers, soccer stuff, clothes, chairs, coffee cups and such. After opening all the doors, I produced the backpack blower and blew all the remains out the doors. It took 2 minutes. I turned it off, looked at my son and said, "This is how men clean." Conner looked at me and said, "Can we clean my room with that?"

There he goes thinking again

Me: "Conner, are you supposed to draw on your leg?"

Conner: "My brain told me to do it."

Catch a tiger ...

Me: "Conner, you can lay on my bed, on the couch or in your bed."

Conner: "Can we play eeny meeny miny mo?"

What I thought but didn't say: Yep, because no matter what, you lose.

Yes, he said that

There is a tradition in the preschool that the girls attended and Conner currently attends. During the last week of Febuary, the teachers hand out Mardi Gras beads. When Abbey was 3, she appeared in the doorway with a neck full of beads. An enormous amount of things flashed through my mind. Maybe flashed was a bad choice of words. Let's say raced through my mind. It took most of the day to get the idea of my daughter (much older) dancing around the French Quarter out of my head. I was not much better with it when Maggie was 3 and she donned the beads after school. Fast forward to today. Conner walks out of class this morning, and he has his beads on. Not a single OMG thought came to mind. I am thinking that he is a little confused as to how this works, but I am OK with it. However, when we got in the car I asked him about the beads and he said, "I want to give these to Mom." In my infinite wisdom, I told him to give one to Mom, and if you don't get in trouble I will give her the rest later.

It's not fair

Good Lord, is there anyone out there who wants an 11-year-old? I am completely sick of the meltdowns, hormones, questions and "I'm tired but I'm not going to bed early" crap. Here is an example. After dinner this evening, I asked Abbey to take her brother downstairs to help him play MarioKart. You would think that I asked her to cut her toes off with a butter knife. She actually told me that she had spent an hour with her brother over the weekend and she should be allowed to not have to deal with it during the weekdays.
The thing that drives me the most nuts is that she will finally give me a break from the Oscar Award-winning drama performance and take a shower. Once her shower is over, she waltzed her little butt downstairs and played with her brother. What the hell happens in there? Is she using some kind of special mood-changing water? I get nine miles of bad road before the shower, and he gets to play MarioKart with his sister after the shower. There is something terribly wrong with this picture. Why do I have to suffer?

Editor's note: Cathy takes offense at this

Why is it that the oldest child in the house thinks that she's the third adult in the house? She thinks that we, as parents, should take her advice on how to raise the younger ones. For Abbey, being an 11-year-old girl has a great many issues that I am not interested in understanding. She is always telling me what I am doing wrong with Maggie and Conner. I truly love it when she opens that pre-teen Pandora's box and irrationally explains that I am doing this parenting thing all wrong and I should change how I talk, walk, prepare dinner, do laundry and whatever else. What Abbey fails to realize is that I have a wife who tells me what I am doing wrong on a daily basis. This is not a position that needs an assistant.

Don't bug her!

Here's what happens when you give a 7-year-old a camera:

Who's the Boss?

During Springsteen's halftime show at the Super Bowl, Abbey winces and says "Oooh, this guy can't sing."

Then, to make it worse, "At least he's better than Neil Diamond."

Those are fighting words, and she knows it. You don't talk bad about Neil Diamond.