I'm 32 Friggin Years Old

So, I have cut off my internet connection at my place, which is why some of you have not seen more blogs from me, or seen me lurking about your blogs and leaving comments.

I stopped in at the local public library for one main purpose. To print off my Free Grand Slam breakfast from Denny's coupon they emailed me as a member of their rewards club.

So today I turned 32 years old... not really a milestone marker, but hey, I'm actually bothering to celebrate this year with some friends. And since it's my birthday, my gift to you, the outside world that is still plugged into the grid, is to let you see that I still haven't managed to die.

I tried to die on Easter Sunday. Not really on purpose. I went and played on the basketball courts that afternoon before going to work. While I suffered no contact induced injuries, I seem to have forgotten in my senile old age to stretch ahead of time, and to maybe take it a bit easier than I did when I was 16. I ended up with a knot in my thigh, and strained something in my lower calf (all in my right leg), resulting in me limping thru the entirety of my work shift that night, and only today feeling 100% again. I was sure they were going to have to haul me off and put me down, like a horse with a broken leg. I also destroyed my $20 walmart special shoes. Not entirely, but when I took the shoes off I had some light greenish foamy powder residue all over my socks, all over my feet underneath the socks, and even more inside the shoes themselves. I don't know what it was, but something inside disintegrated into a fine powder. I'm sure my mom will blame my nasty feet and their odor for killing the shoes...she may be right, I really don't know. Anyways, the birthday celebration is set for this upcoming Saturday night. If you can't make it, you may send cash in the amount of $50 in your stead. I'll be sure to make sure the money feels right at home with me.

Not much else to say at this point...so I'll shove off and go get my Denny's for breakfast.

My Son Follows the Footsteps of Celebrity Justice

Above you will see my youngest son, Corwyn, who will be 5 on Christmas Eve. If you look at his forehead, you will see a very large goose egg he received Sunday morning.
He is smiling here, but shortly after receiving his medal of boyhood, he was a soggy crying mess, in much need of his mother.

I had come home from work, and the boys were watching a movie in the living room. I went back to my bedroom to change out of my uniform and exchange communications with the wife. I heard the boys start horsing around. I am not one to tell them to stop their wrestling, as I encourage them to experience their boyish nature, within limits anyways, and have even been known to encourage it in a not so subtle manner.
Well I never heard the thump, but I surely heard the wailing crying, along with the older brother calling behind him "I'm sorry...I said I was sorry."

I'm really beginning to get irritated with the word "sorry". The oldest, Josh (age 9 1/2), has been using this word A LOT lately. Way more than he should be.

Anyways, Corwyn comes busting in the room, bawling his eyes out, and a noticeable lump on his forehead. He was obviously to shaken up to tell us what was going on besides something about "Josh threw me (unintelligible)"
Josh immediately went into his repeated incantations of "I said I was sorry." Apparently in his mind, this makes everything all better automatically. Kind of like celebrities these days. No matter what you do, say you're sorry and go to rehab, and everything will be okay!

When asked what Corwyn hit his head on, Josh started off with some story, surely trying to find a way to spin it as he spoke to make hiself seem in a slightly better light than reality might suggest. For those of you who know me well...I don't like a sotry when I'm asking a question that only requires one word to be answered. Amazingly enough, even my wife got irritated with his not answering the questions as directly and efficiently as possible. I say amazingly, because she is just as, if not more guilty of the narrative story to any question, even a 'yes or no' typer question. I'm pretty sure Josh got his way of answering questions from her. I'm convinced its genetically passed on. After finding out that Corwyn hit the wooden chair in our living room, then we got the fuller story. Just so you know, I'm fine with the filler material, AFTER my question is answered! Anyways Josh told us they were wrestling and he sort of threw Corwyn into the chair where he smacked his head, but (wait for it)..."I already told him I was sorry." He said it so matter-of-factly, as though that mere statement was the solution to his very recent fuax pas. (He even used it as an excuse for a friend who had kicked him off a slide the other day, finishing off with, "but he said he was sorry, so its okay.") He was sent to his room, after being assured that uttering a saying wasn't the key to ending his problems.

While I applaud him taking a lick like a man, and not making too big a deal out of that physical malady, I think somewhere along the line, he was convinced that apologies solved everything to the point of no further consequences. Worse, I can't even figure out where he learned that from, because it surely didn't come from his mother or me, and I don't recall him watching any TV programming with that kind of message in it.

If you wonder why their isn't a picture of Josh in this post, well, it's because after apologizing, we quickly sent him off to rehab. He should be back in 6 weeks! We're just sooooo proud.