Glider

Night of the Gliders

So… good news. Our fourth and youngest child has achieved a solid 90% potty trained status. When she has an accident it seems to be a purposeful and defiant pissing of the bathroom stool. High comedy for her sisters. Our puppy is still a slight pain in the ass. Literally. She chewed a plastic bottle on my side of the bed and last night I plucked three shards out of my butt cheek at 1:00 am. The tossing and turning that helped me find these scraps was a result of our other “big news” for the month.

No Supermom isn’t pregnant again. She better not be. I can’t imagine how Joseph must have felt finding out that Mary was pregnant. Luckily the angels smoothed things over beforehand. I have this image of him yelling at Mary across the living room, “That better be the lord almighty!” #Drama.

Anywho, our big news does involve a mating pair.

About two weeks ago we took a trip to the exotic animal show at our local fairgrounds. I knew before we left that we would be buying something. I didn’t know what but I did know that we wouldn’t escape unscathed.

There were hedgehogs, bobcats, snakes, lizards, shit-loads of birds, ferrets, and last but not least… Sugar gliders.

We bought a mated pair because we like to lie to ourselves. The idea that we might somehow recoup our investment through sale of sugar gliding offspring is just what we needed to enable our habit of poor decisions. Just like the wallaby and the rabbits, there are interesting facts about sugar gliders that I feel compelled to share.

  • Sugar Gliders look like methed-out chipmunks that are wearing a wing suit and screaming at strangers.
  • Sugar Gliders are nocturnal. Every. Goddamned. Day. Or night I guess. They hide for most of the day then run circles around a noisy metal bird cage for about forty five minutes each night around 2:00am. This is concerning to dogs who then whine and bark. At 2:00 am.
  • Sugar Gliders are noisy when mating. You might think that a prey animal whose best defense is hiding in small holes might be quiet. You would be wrong. They sound like a drunken couple humping on a balcony at a spring break hotel. I’m concerned they are going to fall to their death and/or wake the children. Thank God they don’t say actual words.
  • Sugar Gliders make a warning noise when they feel threatened that is called crabbing. It sounds like fifty cicadas crammed into a really small space. They do this randomly as shadows and large creatures cross near their cage.
  • Sugar Gliders eat something called mealworms. These are basically maggots that are killed and bottled for hand feeding to the precious little meth squirrels. I suppose hand feeding maggots to meth squirrels is better than manual stimulating potty-time for a baby wallaby but not by much. Life shouldn’t be an episode of fear factor. Speaking of which, I accidentally picked up a smashed dog turd because I thought the kids had brought a smashed walnut into the house. I only realized what I was holding after the smell floated out of the half dried turd.
  • Sugar Gliders bond with people and eventually can be put on a leash. Part of the bonding process is allowing the glider some freedom in a controlled closed space. The best controlled closed space is a two-man tent that we will be buying at Walmart tomorrow. Remember kids, the cost of a thing is never the cost of the thing. It is much more.
  • Sugar gliders bites. They bite with a small set of ice picks that double as teeth. Evolutionarily it is confusing because I’ve never noticed mangos that try to escape being eaten. Sharp teeth are for holding prey and randomly biting human owners.
  • Sugar Glider couples enjoy being named so we named ours James and Lily after the late Potters. I feel that they would have belonged to Marsupial House and been really good at Quiddich (sp?) because of their inherent flying skills.

 

So in recap: Tomorrow afternoon there will be a couple of full grown adults in a two-man tent trying to bond to a couple of meth squirrels with a handful of half-dried maggots.

Tell me more about how interesting your life is.

Oh snap. I almost forgot to share the awesome experience of James getting loose in our bedroom. Both gliders were in a small pouch and James decided that he needed to get out and explore. Judy Cornbread, our mix breed puppy, was very interested in eating the spastic treemunk and I had to leap into action to keep her separate. Supermom was wearing a glove to keep from getting bitten but had it on her left hand which was useless in a skilled movement like catching anything that moves. It was a comical few moments as we tried to lure him into the pouch without releasing the other from the exact same pouch. In the end, Supermom grabbed James with her bare hand and suffered through a couple of bites. The blood was more than a papercut but less than the chainsaw scene in Scarface.

If you are curious about Sugar Gliders, this post is for you. You’re welcome. I will try to share any other knowledge I gain from these night howling bastards.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Love My Leg

Ode To My Leg

Sometimes social media is awkward. Like when couples openly dote on each other on a public page. I’m not against throwback photos or “happy anniversary” posts or “thanks for buying me shit” posts. I’m more annoyed by the out of the blue “I have the bestiest bae boo and I want the world to know it!” kind of pulp-affection.

It strikes me in one of two ways. A) The relationship is in the awkward recovery phase from some drama and the person is attempting to fast forward rebuilding some trust or B) Someone is putting a fence around their loved one and claiming some territory. Neither seems very genuine.

Then I realized that maybe it bothers me because I’m a little jealous. Maybe I’m a hater.

Acknowledgement and praise don’t come naturally for me. I do a lot of assuming in my personal relationships and it is because internally I know where I stand but I forget to fully explain to the other person. I was driving at the time that these thoughts cropped up so I had time to reflect on one of my most important relationships, my marriage. I wrote a poem.

Enjoy.


I love you like I love my leg,

I rarely think about it.

Not because its not important,

I couldn’t walk without it.

 

More because its always there

Its half of all I do.

I couldn’t run or jump or … breathe

Without that part of me that’s you.

 

So if I seem to take for granted

The balance you provide,

I know full well I’d hit the floor,

Without you by my side.


 

Dedicated to my right leg,

Thanks for holding my ass up and helping me strut.

Love,

Underdaddy

YardSale

How To Be Rich

Let’s talk today about how you can make tens of dollars with a little thing I like to call “yard sales”. A.K.A. garage sales, rummage sales, or fun-time-with-lemons-and-razors.

I agreed to the yard sale for the same reason I agree to everything. My wife is beautiful and persuasive. She learned long ago that I am a powerless negotiator in the arena of married life. She holds the cards, so to speak. Regardless, I did agree and we spent the better part of two weeks sorting out the piles of hoarded junk into marketable goods. Hundreds of pieces of pottery and I dare say, thousands of clothes for girls from sizes Newborn – 3T.

There were a few outfits marked “Just Born” which I thought was an aggressive suggestion for a clothing tag to make. Can they only wear the item if they were just born? What is the timeframe on just born? Hmm.

Moving on. Friday and the sale items are all prepared. Good thing because we had planned on seeing one of my favorite people, Peyton Manning, speak live at an event in my hometown. He is a class act. Funny and easy going with a little wisdom sprinkled along the way. I left the event feeling motivated to do something. That something was to lead our yard sale to victory. Never mind that we only had six hours to sleep before dragging out all the tables and junk to meet the 6 am crowd (psychopaths, no one enjoys 6 am), we were determined and this shit was gonna happen.

Saturday morning we got up, got doughnuts, and prepared the sale. By 7:00 we were ready for the wave of inevitable commerce. By noon we would surely have financed a trip to Bora Bora or Fiji.

8:30 rolls around and we have seen no one. A lonely car pulls up and an elderly lady walks over and starts judging our life one piece of junk at a time. “My goodness you must have a lot of children”, she said. “We do. Four of them.” I replied. She kept walking and ended up at the hanging rack of nicer clothes that we felt deserved more than $0.50. She picked out three nice outfits and one was a decorative Christmas dress which was a modest $5. Originally it cost $40 and I’m certain it was only worn once, briefly, for photos.

“Five dollars seems expensive.”

“Does it? I thought that was a decent price.”

“It was more than I was wanting to pay.”

“I think your frame of reference is off. You are from the generation where a nickel was admission to the movies. This decade, five dollars is a fancy cup of shit-tasting coffee. If you can’t imagine paying 100 admissions to the theatre for a simple dress I can understand but to me the choice looks an awful lot like naked poverty versus a latte. I think you know the right choice.”

“Would you take three dollars?”

“Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”

The old lady made off like a bandit for a grand total of $6.25. In the meantime, two older gentlemen in beat-up pickups did drive by inspections of our crap and visually determined that we suck and our stuff wasn’t even worth pumping the brakes. If I had been standing near the road I might have been killed.

We had some gracious friends drop by and relieve us of some pottery and clothes. Then we had what can only be described as “the rush”. For a period of five to ten minutes there were three separate customers shopping in our makeshift store. Some of them even bought things.

Near lunchtime the skies began to darken and rain moved in. We started moving things into the garage to shut down the sale and people kept driving up. In the rain. To pile in the garage and look at junk.

A couple more sales of $2 and $4 and we managed to close the garage while there was a break in traffic. We locked up and went into the house for a well-deserved nap.

About ten minutes into naptime someone knocked on the front door. They weren’t confident that the knock would be enough because they immediately rang the doorbell too. I was greeted by two ladies who had bought several baby shoes earlier and realized that they didn’t have matches. We opened the garage, located the boxes of baby shoes and sorted out the missing shoes on the floor of the garage. Thank God they made the trip of thirty minutes back out to the house to save that $0.50 worth of missing toddler sandals. I closed the garage again and managed to take a nap.

We didn’t want to count the money right away because it might cause us to pack our bags and move to Mexico or Belize. You have to ease yourself into being rich so you don’t appear to be “new money”. After waking up and eating some lunch we rolled out the bankroll. I am an engineer to the core so I did a cost benefit just to be sure we were officially wealthy. After deductions of obvious costs like donuts, price stickers, gas to go get display tables and hanging racks, and a box of Red Bull to get me through the morning, I was confident that we had made a profit well beyond $5.50. I dare say… $6.00.

If I understand Federal law correctly, my wife employed me to help. Henceforth and theretowith, I should be guaranteed the minimum wage at the very least. I assume I could sue her in court for lost wages and benefits but I’m not sure if I would be awarded attorney fees. The Better Business Bureau would be very little help in the yard sale market. So to save time and balance the scales of morality I ate a few of her chocolate glazed donuts even though chocolate is not my favorite flavor. I know that stealing pastries sounds harsh but I feel it is a lesson she needed to learn.

Lesson = When disappointed and undercompensated, I will eat your pastries with total disregard for my own preference in flavor.

If you have ever kick-started the road to fame and fortune via yard-sale, this post is for you. You’re welcome. Let’s spend our six dollars on a beer together.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Sucky Choices

There is something amazing about the modern world. Our mobility allows us to live and work in completely different areas. We move from family homes and strike out into the world knowing that the people we love are only a plane ride away. Maybe a day-long drive. But for all our nimble-ness, modern life does stretch us to make weird decisions.

Last week we had a few scares in the family. A trip to the emergency room. An uncertain diagnosis. Lots of crossed fingers and wait-and-see.

There is something depressing about having to make a decision about visiting critically ill family or considering the possibility of needing to attend a funeral. What scenario exists where you don’t feel like an ass-hat for saying I would have done both but we have work and school and blah blah blah.

It is a human reaction to want to be all things to everyone. I get that. Too bad that isn’t how life works. We have to put value on things that are priceless. Time is endlessly limited.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

JC_Computer

Hoarders

I’m so bad at this. I have zero parenting skills. I have no dog skills.

The dog is one hundred percent against all things. She tries to ruin things. She ate a hole in the carpet.

Carpet Hole

Potty training for Lady Bug is going just as well. We are on the fourth pair of panties today. One incident was a number two. Imagine squeezing chocolate through cheesecloth. Awful.

Our house needs major attention. We started cleaning the other day and wheeled out the vacuum. Lady Bug looked at it and tilted her head to one side, “What’s that?”

I feel it is safe to say that if your three year old child doesn’t recognize a vacuum, you might need to use it more. The ensuing wave of guilt pushed us to agree to a neighborhood yard sale that we were made aware of about a week before. To get ready we decided to clean and organize the garage. That should say a lot because if I had to choose between a yard sale and another vasectomy, I would pick the sale but only by a small margin.

I knew the garage was in bad shape. We live in a house that is too small for the six of us anyway and all extra boxes, toys, and junk gets pushed into the garage. A few years ago the garage door burned out the electrical circuits in the garage so we had even less incentive to keep it cleaned up since we quit using it as access to the house. It has been practically inaccessible for about six months. Cluttered for years. We prepared for a long day but I wasn’t ready to face the level of junk.
Hoarders have less. Here are a few of the highlights.

YardSale

Each year we get four pumpkins for Halloween. Apparently we promptly throw them in the garage and forget they exist. We found a total of sixteen plastic pumpkins, six woven Easter baskets, and one Elmo head bucket.

Yard Sale

There was a pile of cardboard boxes that got completely out of hand. Half was diaper related. The other half consisted of boxes from Christmas presents, appliances, and miscellaneous purchases. Our garbage service requires everything to be in a bag for pickup. I am amused by the irony of having thirteen bags of boxes.

We have a lot of good things to sell. Some of it will be handmade pottery because we took lessons for four years and accumulated a metric ton of ceramic dishes. One day will be dedicated to sorting out mugs, plates, cups, bowls, and teapots.

If you are a disgusting human being, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

Supermomglue

Also, Supermom glued her fingers together with superglue. Lol.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.