Patio for Bindi’s Bungalow

Remember that time that we drove to Colorado to buy a wallaby and everyone thought we were crazy?

Me too! That was a great trip. Part of it…

Remember when, seven months later, Toby died traumatically in a fit of convulsions, wrapped in a urine soaked towel that smelled like maple syrup, while I listened to five women crying over the phone because I was stuck in traffic on the way home?

Me too! Vividly.

Remember when we (Supermom) didn’t remember what a poor idea it is to own something with half a brain and very little will to live so we drove to St. Louis and got another wallaby?

Me too! What is money made for if not for giving to strangers at an interstate truckstop? I blame the mothering gene for this memory lapse and glass-half-full look on life.

Remember that time that we built Princess Bindi her own she-shed palace and installed a web cam so we could be tuned in to any possible murder or choke-to-death scenario?

Yep, still remembering that on this end too. Sidenote: The word she-shed irks me. It is a terrible mishmash of letters that hurts my brain. Like calling a person who is insane, cray-cray. Which also sounds like a three year old talking about coloring utensils. Where were we? Weird pet things…

What about that time we built a door for her to go outside her domicile and get some exercise and eat grass and we hoped that she would be smart enough to be appreciative?

That’s because this one just happened and I haven’t told you about it yet.

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The door becomes the ramp. How creative!

We dug posts, trenched in a fence, created a safe and inviting environment, and knew without a doubt that giving her some room to hop about was the key to convincing Bindi to not be such a moody bitch-deer. We worked so hard. Blisters. Soreness. Wire cuts. I fought three bees in hand-to-hand combat and risked my life.

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A happy Supermom makes it all worth it. Look at that craftsmanship on that gate!

How did Ms. Bindi react to all this?

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She is thinking about the best way to freak out at nothing at all. 

Like someone was chasing her with a butchers knife. That’s how. She lost her mind. She refuses to go outside during the day and generally emerges for only a few minutes at dusk.

So remember kids… when your college fund leaves you a few dollars short of that “nice” apartment or the upgraded meal plan, you can thank Bindi and, by extension, your mother. Just kidding, I’m not paying for college. Get oppressive loans like the rest of us.

Bindi is almost as bad a pet as Jasper. Just kidding, Jasper is terrible. He is sweet sometimes but I have never owned a dog so frustrating. Neither will ever top the sugar gliders for unbearableness. Those guys were the worst. Bindi has gotten better over the last few days and seems adjusted to her expanded freedom. She is not much of a people person but then again she isn’t much of a person.

However, we have some newer pets who are much better people. More on that later…

If you toil away and find yourself unappreciated by the very thing that you are seeking to please, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

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My documentation of life has been lax lately. I haven’t felt the writing bug or even the ability to remember much.

We’ve had weekend trips and baby goats and all kinds of excitement. Donna Threeto got glasses (see below). We had a flood. Then another flood. I got to see Washington DC. I’ll share some good flood photos in another post. Maybe. Sometime.

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Yay! Baby goats!

Anyway. Work life has escalated. In a good way but a busy way as well. I have been traveling a little more and anytime I am out of town life seems to make trouble for me back home.

This week, trouble was in the form of a broken thumb. Who else but Prima, our graceful low calcium princess. She was struck with a dodgeball and immediately had swelling and bruising in her thumb. I assumed that she had stubbed it. Her teacher texted me a picture and I suggested the dad approach of rubbing a little dirt on it and proceeding with life. After all, who the hell breaks a bone in dodgeball? Maybe an ankle but to snap a thumb at the growth plate?

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Made you look. 

Supermom sent me the picture after a fun trip to the doctor’s office at 7:00 at night. She took all four children because all of our babysitting options were out of town. In fact, I was at another hospital in another town visiting one of the grandparents. I got a series of texts that let me know the bone was broken and that she is going to a specialist the next day.

The next day I got a text that I should cancel my schedule the next day because the doctor was going to place her under anesthesia and re-break the thumb to set it correctly. Fun. And they wanted her to check in at the hospital at 6:00 am. More fun.

We did have a fun pre-op experience though.

It is important to remember that Prima is our worry-wart child. She once cried for an hour because poison berries existed and she was afraid that one day she may not be able to stop her hand from making her mouth eat them. True story. She also decided she was afraid of bugs and would barely leave the living room for a week or so. She has done a lot of self-therapy and is much improved but still has a panic from time to time.

So… our pensive princess is sitting in the prep-room and the nurse hands her a gown. She is given the instructions to remove all of her clothes and put on the gown.

Prima asks, “Can I leave my panties on?”

The nurse responds flatly, “The doctor doesn’t like to leave anything that can catch on fire…”

Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. I can only imagine the images that she was putting together in her head. Supermom saw the problem immediately and assured her that she was not at risk of burning to death while getting her thumb fixed. Prima was allowed to wear her undergarment without further question.

She was nervous until the IV of Versed convinced her that nothing really matters and life is a warm pool of happy.

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Procedure went good. Recovery was slow. I think the medicine was rough on her. She passed out after trying to get up too quickly. Eventually she got to head home after a little Sprite and some vomiting.

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In about five weeks everything should be good to go. Just in time for swimming and summer.

If you have been injured in a game of dodgeball this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Cousin Ralph

I am forever amazed at the strength of women. It is something that can be seen throughout the age range. They have a perseverance that men don’t deserve. Allow me to explain.

We are in the throes of an illness that I am pretty sure is the flu. It started Thursday with the youngest child and if you have an aversion to these kinds of stories this is where you need to exit the story train.

 

I even gave you guys an extra space to consider your actions so we can continue. My conscience is clear.

 

So all this started Thursday with Lady Bug blowing chunks of curdled milk at school. Supermom got the call and picked her up. She was acting normal except for the vomiting so we thought maybe just a minor thing. A couple of hours later I got a text that let me know that it was not a minor thing. Lady Bug left the room to “go potty” and came back without pants on. Supermom asked why she had no pants and she replied that she was hot. Sitting around with no pants is not too out of the ordinary so Supermom let it ride for a few minutes. Some brief few moments later Supermom discovered that “I was hot” is code for “I completed ruined my sweat pants”. No worries because the dog had discovered this already and had done some pre-cleaning. That text alone gave me the flu over the phone.

I weighed the options and considering everything that has been swirling around school I decided to pull the other three out of school and maybe cut down on the spread. We divided all the children and passed out the sanitizer. We rubbed the belly on a Buddha statue. We drank Elderberry juice. We patted our heads and rubbed our tummies at the same time. Anything for some good luck.

Everyone stayed out of school on Friday. By Friday night we thought we might luck out. I had started a fever but none of the other symptoms. We all went to bed and things were good until about 4:00 am. Threeto was crying and had created a slight mess. Her bed is a rustic style wooden bunk bed. She sleeps on top bunk and had apparently tossed her cookies on the top step of the stairs on the side. It walked down to the carpet like a putrid slinky. I heard the call and rose to the challenge. Fever or no fever I was going to help. Except… about the time I got to the bedroom I realized I was in my own brand of trouble. I didn’t explain. I just turned around and went to our bathroom for some porcelain prayer time.

I don’t know if anyone else has encountered the dilemma of choosing which problem to tackle first but my brain wasn’t in a good place. As I sat on the throne and held the garbage can in front of me I had an inner voice, let’s call it an angel, whisper to me. She said, “You need to put your face on the tile to survive.” So, by the time Supermom made it to check on me I was in some strange contortion, face down, trying to get every inch of my naked skin to touch cold tile. It was a graceful thing to see. I made it back to the bed and dosed up on some Phenergan which kept me off the tile for the rest of the night.

Everyone else is on alert and Supermom has started showing some symptoms. That makes four of us and it inspired a discussion on the strength of women.

All of my girls, wife included, have this supernatural ability to remain upright while puking. The younger two girls actually voluntarily do it from a standing position. Who stands up? Cyborgs who are unfamiliar with biologic functions? My body is not built that way. I have to lay my head on the toilet seat and practically duct tape myself in position because my muscles are useless. If I pass out and break my neck then that’s just how it goes. I break into sweats and start negotiating with the baby Jesus for an ounce of sweet release. They are all fancy about it like other women will be watching so they better keep things straight. It is impressive.

Anyway.

If you have ever watched a virus progressing its way through the family you know the terror. This post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Swimming With The Current

I have been really terrible about documenting life lately. It has been swirling and confusing and moving very quickly. And slowly somehow. It feels like I am swimming with the current and I can’t differentiate between the times when I am going downstream because I want to go or being swept along. Ultimately it doesn’t matter. Both options are going the same way.

Things have been good. Just busy.

We have been crafty. I built a table for our dining room.

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I made it in our sunroom and used it as an excuse to buy several clamps and tools that I felt I needed.

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The polyurethane says to use in a vented area and that is legitimate advice. I think Supermom and I were both high by the time we finished each coat. We had the windows open and fans on but it is some strong stuff. At least it looks nice.

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I expect it to collapse like a country porch and probably kill our dog(s). But until it does… we will enjoy our new table.

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It seats eight. We don’t have eight matching chairs but Im not a man who gets upset by details. 

Our search for an old barn-wood table took us to a giant antique mall. The lack of an old barn-wood table at the antique mall led to me building my own which means this part of the story is out of chronological order. We got other things from the antique mall. We bought a couple of fancy old lamps with questionable wiring. We got some Keebler Elf sized rocking chairs to refinish. I also got lots of pictures of strange and terrible and just plain weird things that people had for sale. I will share a few of these photos below…

 

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Classic Made-You-Look 

The next item looked to be some sort of traditional folk-art sculpture but I feel like the person has to pee.

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Madonna’s Muse?

The next one was peeing.

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This attaches to the top of a whiskey bottle. 

I have questions. A) Where was this made and sold? B) Is this a child or a cherub and is there a difference to the end-user? C) The “spout” is broken. What was the original piece? D) Who approved this at the whiskey novelty topper company?

At least the next one didn’t leave any questions. Well maybe one; Is this a slam or brag for people from Oklahoma?

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And for the last one…

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Just throw it away already.

It looks like something from a B-rated horror movie. A four point deer with cataracts.

In all of our nostalgia and looking through antiques Supermom started thinking about old pictures. She couldn’t find a specific box of photos from her childhood so we went searching in our storage shed. Turns out that a super colony of ants made a home out of the pictures box. We had to dump out millions of ants and sort through a pile of pictures one by one to clean off damaged inks and calcified ant urine. Many of the photos were a complete loss but we salvaged one that has become my new favorite.

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Supermom even got the socks right. Im proud. 

We discovered that we have matching photos from the mid-eighties. Apparently baby pictures at Olan Mills required a large rock and a timber bridge in the background. The hallway art project is another product of our recent crafty-ness.

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I look like I’m selling some sort of pyramid scheme to relatives.

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Same Rock. Same Bridge.

What makes these more impressive is the fact that we were born 3 years and 300 miles apart. The power of consumerism.

The photo wall is really cool. I’ll have to share that with everyone next time. And the refinished desk.

If you have been treading water already in 2019, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Ghosted

I am a grown man.

I am brave.

I do my best to ignore bumps in the night and a creaky old house.

I knew that when we moved in we would have some adjusting to do. The girls would likely hear things and make up stories. I was ready.

When they found an old photograph from right after the house was constructed, it was black and white and showed the father and mother sitting on the back porch, I dismissed it as something that was left behind.

When some of the doors move, I know it is a hinge that is misaligned from the foundation settlement.

When the girls created a Mrs Potatohead and dressed her in red and named her Lola which is also the name of the late matriarch of the house, I let it slide. Kids pick up on things. I don’t think they knew any names at that point but maybe they did.

When it sounds like someone is walking away from me when I go to the door at the carport, I could care less. Houses have their history and their owners. No need to get all excited about imagined ghosts and scary things.

But tonight… I must have had these thoughts hidden around the corners of my mind. They swirled and sat near the front while they waited for something to jump out and grab me. I needed a drink from the kitchen so I went through the living room where presents had been opened earlier in the day. When I rounded the corner of the living room and encountered the upper half of a torso rising out of the carpet, I nearly shit my pants. The wide dark eyes. The sparkling nails. The fact that something was emerging from my carpet and smiling at the same time. It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to scream or warn my family. I just uttered an “uuggghh” while all my muscles locked into a ball of fear.

When I awoke a few seconds later I was face to face with the demon in the living room floor. I had one thought ringing in my head crystal-clear; Why did I buy this for Christmas and who the hell designed it.

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The room was darker. Stop laughing at me. 

My reptile brain didn’t even offer an alternative. It said, “Satan is crawling out of hell to eat your ankles.”

If you get freaked out over misplaced toys or strange shadows, this post is for you.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.