Why 9 Year Olds Don't Rule The World

The hallway bathroom toilet broke today (the cast iron flange that holds the toilet to the floor broke), and luckily we have a home warranty, so we set up a service call. No big deal. We have done a good job over the last few years of saving money & being financially sound, so even if our warranty doesn't cover it, we have the money to fix it.

Side-story: We set up a child's savings account for Emily 2 years ago so she could learn to save money & put it in the bank. She never quite grasped why we save money when she could so easily just spend it on junk at Wal-Mart. We never had a better answer than, "because you have to".

So the toilet breaking gave us a good opportunity to explain exactly why we save money.

Natalie tells her, "Emily, you see, since the toilet is broken, we'll have to fix it. Since we have saved our money in our savings account at the bank, we don't have to worry about if we are able to pay for it. That's why we have money in our savings account."

Emily got a distraught look on her face.

Her reply, "you mean I have to pay to fix the toilet with MY savings?"

This is why 9 year olds don't rule the world.

One Question Too Many

Funny short story today:

We are all watching "High School Musical" for the 27th time (if you are a parent, and haven't seen "High School Musical" - GOD BLESS YOU! Do not buy or watch it under any circumstances!), and I need to use the restroom.

So I get up and start walking back to our master bathroom, and Ryan quickly follows behind.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" he says.

"I'm going to go to the potty?" I reply.

"You need to go tee tee?" as he follows me down the hallway.

"No, I need to go poo-poo."

"Ewww." About face, running back to the living room.

Does the boy know his daddy, or what?

Ryan make friends

Quick little story:

I took the kids to McDonald's this evening for dinner & they are playing in the playground area. About 5 minutes later Ryan runs up to me.

"Dad!" he says.

"Yes?" I reply.

"Do you see that person?" pointing to one of the other kids playing in the playground.

"Yes." I say.

"That's my friend, that my best friend."

He then runs off with his new "best friend".

I don't know about you, but I wish best friends were that easy to find...

Scott's Karaoke Videos

If you've seen my dad's karaoke video, you can see that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me":


Beastie Boys "Fight For Your Right to Party":



And Finally, Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby":



I'm available for a record deal...

Videos Part Deux

More videos.

My dad's awful Karaoke with special audio effects. Don't have anything in your mouth when watching this unless you want it all over your computer screen:



Emily's Xmas Program:

Part 1/3:


Part 2/3:


Part 3/3:

Scott & Natalie's Vegas Vacation

Best. Vacation. Ever.

Part 1:


Part 2:


Part 3:


Part 4:

Videos Part 1

--by Big Daddy

Since this is new, there will be lot's of experimenting. Our plan is to make this a one-stop shop for what's going on with us, so bear with me as we get it all organized.

Here's some videos that I've made in the past:

Emily & Ryan 2005:



Emily & Ryan 2006:



My Car:



My Literal Interpretation of Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back":



My Literal Interpretation of Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby":



Natalie's 30th Birthday Party:



A slideshow I made of my dad Karaoke singing:



Emily doing a newscast (we were playing with my new green screen):



Emily's winter ballet recital:



A float we made for our mardi gras party:



A short vid of my FREAKING STRAIGHT FLUSH I hit playing poker:



More videos to come...

The Icy Hot Story

--by Big Daddy

I might as well start off this blog with an embarrassing story about myself.

To preface, I am a semi-regular recreational basketball player. Not a professional by any means. Not even good. But I play. In addition, I am what my mother would call "big boned", however I'm not sure that my bones are bigger, just that they have more fat on them. Anyway, the story...

After a particularly grueling evening playing in a recreational basketball league basketball game (I can't remember if we won or lost, it's a moot point anyway), I came home and was in my usual physical state: in a lot of pain and with sore muscles. My thigh muscles were particularly sore.

After showering, I did what most people who have sore muscles do: put on a topical muscle relaxing ointment. My particular ointment was Icy Hot, advertised to "start out icy to dull the pain, then hot to melt it away" or something like that.

You can probably see where this is going.

So I put on a thick coating of Icy Hot on both of my thighs, and it started feeling icy. Aaaah, I may be able to walk around at work tomorrow. Then I made a huge mistake: I put my underwear on.

Another side note: I wear boxer briefs. For those that may not know, boxer briefs are knee length and made of cotton, so they are tight on your skin. They are comfortable for me, wedgie-free and they keep everything in place, if you know what I mean.

I'm almost sure now that you can see where this is going.

As I slid on my underwear, I was inadvertently picking up the Icy Hot on my thighs and re-applying it on, um, my genital area.

At first, it was icy, to dull the pain. Then about 1 minute later came the hot.

Not snuggly warm, undies-fresh-out-of-the-dryer hot. Not even really-hot-bath hot.

More like pour-red-sulphur-spewing-lava-on-my-balls hot. Like sit-naked-on-an-acetelyne-torch hot.

Icy Hot should have a new slogan for idiots like me: "Icy to dull the pain, then Hot to turn you into a Eunich."

Fast forward to 1/8 second later. I am now doubled over on my bed in the fetal position, mainly because this is the default position for males when there genitals are in pain. The problem is that I am just smearing the Icy Hot all over and making it worse.

Now, imagine a 350+ pound guy writhing around on his bed screaming "My balls are on fire! My balls are on fire!"

Now imagine my wife being in the room looking at this. It's embarrassing enough when you do stupid things by yourself, it's even worse when you have a witness. Especially when she has no idea what's going on. Apparently she walked in just as I was putting my underwear on, so she had no idea I was trying to accidentally castrate myself.

"What is the matter with you?" she asks.

I calmly reply, "MY BALLS ARE ON FIRE!!! I PUT ICY HOT ON MY LEGS, THEN PUT ON MY UNDERW-- AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHH! PUT IT OUT!!! PUT IT OUT!!!"

"Put what out?"

"PUT OUT THE FIRE!! I'M ON FIRE!!!"

So what does my wonderful, beautiful wife do to help her hapless, crippled husband?

She laughs hysterically.

Knowing that she is no help to me now, I begin crawling to the bathroom to wash this devil creme off of what's left of my groin. Crawling, however, is not a good idea because the act of crawling is essentially massaging in the Icy Hot deeper into my gonads. I don't need this stuff massaging deeper, but I am now unable to walk upright (possibly permanently) and so I just crawl as fast as a 350 pound guy can crawl with his crotch in flames.

Finally, seemingly hours later, I get to the tub and begin washing myself off. However, because Icy Hot is oil-based, it does not simply wash off. Now I have to get a washcloth and soap and whatever other de-greasers I own to get this stuff off of me. Try putting a washcloth full of soap on your just-recently-on-fire scrotum, and welcome to a new level of pain.

I finally get rinsed off, with my wife standing in the bathroom doorway (still laughing) observing her husband's accidental vasectomy.

So, the moral of the story: put your undies on before you put on Icy Hot, or you WILL regret it, gentlemen.