Thursday, February 24, 2011


No it's not a real mushroom. It's a shell on a stick stuck in Irish Moss. I got this picture of it just in time because my son broke it. He's awesome like that. He'll be good for the economy when he grows up. Buy it and break it. I used to take the kids to the dollar store and let them get a toy but their toys would either not work at all or be broken within the hour. I used to buy lots of cheap toys for their birthdays and Christmas but I don't think I'll do that anymore. I now see the error of my ways. I see the waste as well as the disappointment. One good sturdy toy is going to last and never get lost at the bottom of the toybox. When it's real, it is worth something later. All this cheap stuff from China is bogging us down. Not only are we broke but also disappointed with the crap we have. I wish I could just throw all this crap away, but that would compaound the wastefulness and there's probably some kid at the thrift store to give it one more play before they throw it away.
"Whatever," Avery says.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Monday, February 14, 2011

My Valentine don't like Roses

Chocolate hearts and little message hearts.
I love my valentine
But my valentine don't love sweet candy.

Long-stemmed roses and calle lillies.
I love my valentine
But my valentine don't love smelly flowers.

Toes in the sand and the fog rolls in.
I love my valentine
But my valentine don't love rainy beaches.

Shiny silver heart on an invisible chain.
I love my valentine
But my valentine don't love cheap jewelry.

Not sweet or smelly, rainy or cheap.
I love my valentine
And my valentine loves me too.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Don't call me Mom, Mister

It's really tough being a dad. It's rewarding, I'm told. Eventually all this hard-ly appreciated work must culminate into something worthwhile. Like when your son plays in the superbowl and there you are in the stands, some goofy mom-, glitter-shirt. Yeah I said mom because somewhere in the past, when I was a kid, it was traditional for mom to be the mom. But now it's not uncommon for the dad to be the mom. It's okay with me but there are many times throughout the day that I wish I was at a job. A job with an adult boss would be perfect.

I have conspiracy theories.

Some of my theories are admittedly outrageous and even paranoid, but I'm driven by my inner-driver to concoct them anyway. For example: Television programmers are brain-branding our children and altering their behaviors thus causing them to act so badly that a parent would go out and work for the corporations who paid such television programmers to provide wrongful behavior modifiers for no more than the minimum wage.

I know people who work two jobs and pay the babysitter the total wages of the second job.

I now understand.

I empathize.

I apologize.

I owe my wife a lot more than that.

It's my turn to be the stay-home parent.

Monday, February 7, 2011


Time has flown by.
And where was I?
Moving here to there.
All around everywhere, the dust must settle finally.
Allowing for acceptance, acclamated, but finally?
May be soon, my heart works to balance.
My head rings in the night.
Unrested, humbled to near silence.
Falling from cliffs inside my head.
But falling is still scary.
Yes, it beats incarceration.
Cells of stagnant imagination and creation choke like mold spores.
I still fall but there is time even as it flies.
There is hope even as the world won't wait.
I still fall but I should fall still.