Threeto Peeto

Don Threeto is always worth reading. Tonight she was on her game.

 It is no secret that we have had a stressful end of 2014 and start to 2015. Quick recap: Prima broke her arm, Lady Bug had a seizure and visited the children’s hospital a few days later, Supermom is dealing with some issues that are related to having four kids, Lady Bug had an ear infection, Supermom has surgery planned for tomorrow to correct an umbilical hernia.

 Of course as we are getting the kids ready to go to the baby sitters (grandparents) we notice that Lady Bug is tugging at her ear again and has a slightly runny nose. We make a last minute call and carry Lady Bug to see the world’s finest physician. Sure enough the ear is infected again so we have to stop at Walgreens on the way to the grandparent’s house. Never mind that we have to report to the hospital at 6:00am.

 That is where the interesting part of the story begins. I am stressed and tired from preparing for tomorrow and trying to make sure my work is complete. Kids are properly assigned. Normal anxiety stuff on top of worrying about a serious medical procedure for my wife.

 We pull up to the pharmacy drive thru and there are six cars ahead of us. No problem. Kids are watching a DVD and I will just catch up on some Facebook. Mom tagged me in a Louis CK standup about four kids that is hilarious. The line creeps along because people don’t understand that drive through service is for pick up and drop off and waiting can be done somewhere else. McDonalds will ask you to pull up in a heartbeat but Walgreens is just too polite for that.


We get halfway through the line and I hear Don Threeto.



“I want nuggets and Lady Bug will take some fries.”

“This isn’t a restaurant.”

“Yep. Nuggets.”

“What does that even mean? It wasn’t a question.”

“Okay Daddy.”

She is back into the movie and I don’t know that she even remembers what she said.


Resume the Facebook scroll.

 The cars in front of me move again and I am two cars from the window. I hear Threeto again.

“Daddy! I have to pee!”

“Of course you do.” *sigh*

 Decision time. I can stay in line and risk an accident or take two kids into the store to an almost certainly filthy bathroom (all public bathrooms are filthy to a parent of a four year old). I do the right thing. I get out of line and park in a space. I only have Lady Bug and Threeto with me so it shouldn’t be too bad.

 I am getting Lady Bug out of the carseat and Threeto chimes in again.


“Just unbuckle and get out of the car honey, we have to move tonight.”

“I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Okay what is it?”

“Someone peed in my seat.”



“Did they pee your pants too?”


“Awesome. Do you still have to pee?”


“Let’s go.”

 I don’t know about everyone else but during flu season I am wary of doctor’s offices, the hospital, and pharmacies because they are the exact route that really sick people take. Dripping droplets of tainted mucus off their noses and hands and into the air. I should never have watched Outbreak or any coverage of Ebola. Now let’s imagine the bathroom at one of these rest-stop cesspools and trying to get an eighteen month old and a four year old not to touch something.

I beg them to do anything but touch anything.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Okay Daddy.”

“Do you know what I mean by anything?”


“Then quit touching the toilet seat…”

“Okay Daddy.”

“Just stand still right there.”

I time my next move. I need to set Lady Bug down, wipe the toilet seat, put Threeto on it, and pick Lady Bug back up before she touches anything. Success.

 We wipe and head to the sink. So far touching surfaces is at a minimum. Then we get to the sink.

“Hey Threeto…”

“What Daddy?”

“Licking is a form of touching something. Lets not lick anything. Especially the edge of the sink.”

“Okay!” (Apparently my detailed explanation motivated her)

She then tries to point out a bathroom mistake.

“Hey Daddy.”


“My pants are wet.”

“That is because you peed them in the car.”

“Oh right. They not warm.”

 We wash our hands and manage to get out of the bathroom only touching the sink, wall, floor, bottom of a shoe, and the entire surface of the door pull handle. All after the hands washing which is a perfect storm because bacteria do much better on slightly wet hands. I don’t even care at this point. Lick the floor kid. Just make it quick because we need to get home.

 The medicine was not ready because it hadn’t been noticed I think. They promise to work on it and we walk around the store. Lady Bug is giggling and enjoying running behind her big sister. I tell them to stay close because I don’t trust people in general and we are in a high crime location. Maybe not the candy aisle in Walgreens but the neighborhood has a good number of vagrants. Anyway, both children are running together slightly ahead of me when suddenly as they reach the end of the aisle it is like a silent alarm triggers a prison break. Don Threeto breaks right and Lady Bug breaks left. Both in a full run and I have to choose which one to chase. Shit.

I grab the slow one first plus she is nearest the front door and then Threeto comes back around the aisle laughing at her new game. We had a quick discussion and went back to the pharmacy to stare through the window and maybe inspire them to rush. It worked and we were on our way.

Normally, or should I say previously, I would have been done for the night as far as patience and nerves but I was pretty much unaffected. It was funny. My stress level has been reset and taking some time to realize it passes quickly really has helped me be a better parent. Even since starting writing this stuff down I can look back and see little things that are barely a memory in my mind. I encourage everyone to make notes, take a picture, or do something to capture the here and now. Tomorrow is an illusion and yesterday is too. All we have is right now.  

And right now is factures, seizures, and pissing our pants but somehow that is fine with me. It will be better.

 This post is for everyone. You’re welcome.


-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Eight Years a Husband

On October 22 my lovely wife, Supermom, was checking her phone and noticed the date. She paused in thought for a moment and then turned to me.

“Do you know what day it is?”
“The 22nd?”
“Isn’t that a special day?”
“Not that I know of…”

My mind is racing to figure out what I have forgotten. Men can never be too sure of the milestones that we are supposed to remember.

She thinks for another moment and then, less confidently, “Is tomorrow important to you?”

Light bulb. Our anniversary. I smile because the 23rd isn’t the correct day either.

“Nope. What day is the important day? I know but you don’t.”
“Nope. The 27th. The same as it has been for the last eight years.”
She shrugs her shoulders, “Eh, I was close.”

According to stereotypes, that is my line but I’ll let her have it. Most likely, she has been trying to forget and is getting better at it every year. I will always remember and speaking of things she tries to forget. I would like to honor everyone with the story of how we met. If for no other reason than to prove that she had fair warning of what she was marrying into.

Spring Break 2003 – Don’t worry this isn’t about bikinis and exotic locations.

I was a regular patron of a country line dance bar near my college. My two favorite pastimes were drinking beer and getting dates by teaching unsuspecting ladies how to do the different line dances. This particular night I had been enjoying my first pastime way more than my second. My friends and I were having a good time dancing but it was time to take a break and grab another Bud Light.

I remember the first sighting, dark blue American Eagle T-shirt and khaki short shorts. I also remember thinking very specifically that I could marry her. Not a premonition that I would but that I could if I had the chance. It really was a magic moment for me. She looked like a deer in the headlights as I sauntered up and asked for a dance. She glanced around looking for a way out but my sniper-of-a-wingman already had her wing-woman by the hand, heading to the dance floor. I would later find out that Supermom isn’t much for conflict, so she agreed to a dance just to be nice and not sit alone.

We talked about something I’m sure. Actually, I probably talked nonstop while she counted the seconds until the song was finished. According to her field notes, she held me up for most of the slow dance series. I followed her back to her table after the dance and, in what is probably the smoothest pickup line ever, I asked her to dinner at McDonalds.

In my thoughts the reasoning sounded like, “I want to spend more time with this lovely lady. She is so beautiful that I just want to be in her presence. We could be anywhere just so long as we are together. I have to let her know how I feel…”

It came out of my mouth, “I want to take you out and it can be anywhere. It could even be McDonalds.”

What is the problem, google realizes that it is upscale.

What is the problem? Google realizes that it is upscale.

Imagine my surprise when I got the cold shoulder with the “maybe” or “I’m busy” for the next three months. What thick headed dolt keeps trying for three months? This guy.

Finally the friends angle worked and she learned that most of the time I can stand on my own power and make complete sentences. We both continued to be regulars at the same place and one night she agreed to our first unofficial date, IHOP, after the bar closed down. Everything was going really well and I had almost erased my stellar first impression. The bar announced the last call and we headed for the door.

I had a nice Mustang GT at the time which is a facsimile for a Lamborghini in the South.

Oh yeah.

Oh yeah.

There really was no reason to say what I did but as we passed a really nice two-seater convertible I said, “Well, here is my car!” I stood confidently by this little silver car which was not my Mustang and waited for her to be impressed. She pulled out a set of keys and said, “Actually, it is mine but you can drive it if you want.”

I’ll be damned. Talk about not catching a break.

Not my sweet ride.

Not my sweet ride.

Yet somehow, in spite of the red flags, she still gave me a chance. I gave up on trying to be impressive and she gave up on avoiding me. We were married in 2006.

See I have evidence.

See I have evidence.

She is my best friend and like Forest and Bubba, I feel like we spend our time leaning against each other to keep our “Heads out tha’ mud.” Four kids and eight years later, she is a better mom and wife than I deserve.

To all the wives who know that your husband married out of his range, this post is for you. And for Supermom.

Underdaddy to the rescue.