This past weekend we celebrated the 4th of July. If you were unaware of that fact, the car commercials and home improvement commercials would be enough to remind you. That’s right, our forefathers fought for our right to repaint our houses or build a patio over the weekend. Something doesn’t sound right about that.

But I am not going to bore you with that, I’m going to bore you with something completely different. My Dog.

Nala has improved from the basket of nerves that she was upon adoption, but this time every year is a big setback. You see, she doesn’t like loud noises. To put it mildly, there are loud noises over the Fourth of July weekend.

It started on the third. The family went to the community pool to get the offspring to wear themselves out before bed. Over the course of the hour or so we were gone there were several pops of fire crackers. When we returned, there was a puddle in the living room (hey, it beats there being a puddle on the bed). This did not bode well for the next night.

We started the night at my parents’ house for dinner and pool. We had some weird pseudo-French dinner (I guess in a nod to France’s assistance in the American Revolution, it’s the best I’ve got). It was good, just weird. I made dessert (banana ice cream and brownies), nothing terribly patriotic, but very good nonetheless. Nala was at home, alone.

We got home to a not messed house. Be thankful for small things. At this point we saw fit to “medicate” Nala. I didn’t want her to shit herself silly behind the couch during the impending fireworks so we gave her some Benadryl wrapped in some cheese. Twenty minutes later she was snoozing behind the couch and we were able to watch the fireworks, and drink our beverages, without worrying about what the pooch was doing.

After sleeping overly late (10am central), I finally stagger downstairs for breakfast. The wife’s grandfather doesn’t drink coffee, so after my bowl of cereal the FIL, the wife, and I (carrying Miss L) all go out for coffee (and a doughnut). Fortunately, there is a Dunkin Doughnuts within walking distance of the house.

Before we get back to the house, more relatives have arrived. Of course Miss L was with us, so Mr. B was pressed into action to entertain the strange ladies (strange in so many ways). He did not disappoint.

After we got back, we played “pass the potato tm” with Miss L for quite a while. Then it was time to eat. The visitors supplied lunch. All of it healthy (the only thing that wasn’t “healthy” was the mayo on the sandwiches), veggie sandwich, roast beef sandwich, turkey sandwich, blueberries, grapes, strawberries, and peapods. It was nice to have something remotely healthy.

After lunch, the FIL and I leave to play a round of golf. It was allegedly a “links” style course. The only thing it had in common with a true links course was the wind. After that we were in the middle of farm country (very flat), in the middle of America (no water, just a couple of manmade ponds). The wind was fierce, a pretty constant 15-20mph with gusts the approached 40mph. That will mess with the flight of your golf ball let me tell you!

After 16 holes of that, we were in danger of reenacting the scene from “Caddy shack” where the priest was having the round of his life during a thunderstorm. We didn’t have the rain, yet, but we did have the lightning, and I wasn’t having the round of my life. So going against every brain cell in my head, we finish the round (was I subconsciously having a death wish?).

We finish the round, just in time too, no sooner did we close the car doors to go home and the heavens opened up. Now we are driving home in a downpour and I can’t see what is in front of us (So I watch the curb to make sure that we aren’t getting any closer). We drove through several “puddles” (closer to ponds really) that put us in danger of flooding the car. Once we made it home, I grabbed a beer with a bourbon chaser and some pizza.

I knew this day would come. I just didn’t expect it so soon. Keep in mind that I have not actually witnessed this myself, this is all hearsay from the wife, but apparently my Mr. B has discovered his naughty bits. That fact is not new. He has been grabbing himself for as long as he could grab things. There just didn’t seem to be any, how should I say this, intent before.

Now Mr. B has woken up with “morning wood” before. Hell, he does this on a regular basis. It, without fail, amuses him to no end. He can hold it down with his hand and it always springs back. I don’t usually encourage this, I try to get his diaper on him as soon as I can, but he always gets a few “flicks” in before I can finish swapping out the diaper. No harm done, I figure.

Lately, he had figured out how to get wood on demand. Again, I have not actually witnessed this as it usually happens in the bath (which is one of the parental chores I detest, but that is a whole different post). Evidently, he has discovered that if he lies on his belly and wiggles his hips, he can get a stiffy. Upon developing the stiffy, well the world is his oyster.

This seems to really bother the wife. I’m sure it is just a normal phase that all boys go through, and only gets worse during the teenage years (I know it did for me…), but it that is of no consolation to the wife. She just wants him to play with his toys, and not his “toys”, during the bath.

As it stands, I’m glad that the wife does the bath thing, should he continue to do the self-gratification thing, I’m afraid I’ll have to take over. Nobody wants that, least of all me.

Prequel

Loading the van was fairly uneventful. Uneventful that is until we let Mr. B check on my progress. He seemed to approve of my packing of the van, and he got very excited when we showed him where he would be sitting. Mr. B squealed with joy and climbed into his car seat and started pointing at the DVD player (we have a travel DVD player for the kids) and exclaiming, “OOO-OOO-OOO!” Thus began the tears. Mercifully, those tears were the worst of the trip, but we didn’t know it at the time. That was the loading of the van, getting the van is a whole different story.

The wife reserved a van from (mucho) Dollar Rent-A-Car. I had found a deal on line (a minivan for $177/week, plus tax) that looked pretty good. We rented it for nine days so the total fee was to be $177 + 2 days @ $35/day + tax came to, roughly, $350. The FIL, wanting to make sure we made the trip, graciously offered to foot the bill (see, he’s not ALL bad).

So we go to pick up the van. In the process of signing away my soul and my first born son, I mention that I would like to add my wife on as a second driver (over 2000 miles lay ahead of us, I may want a break at some point). The surly “customer service” rep grunted at me and took my Drivers License and the wife’s Drivers License (after having the wife’s DL in front of her, she still managed to misspell her name, badly). After that she pointed to a placard that explained how they were going to rape me (financially) with gas. I opted to pre-purchase a tank of gas @ 3.74/gal (which was less than I could buy it at a gas station) rather than the prices that started at $6/gallon and finished at $9/gallon (prices only a European could love).

After all that the total came to, wait for it, $550! I nearly soiled myself! Just adding the wife was $81 (plus tax) and the tank of gas was $74 (plus tax). Please note all of the “plus tax” that I keep mentioning. I stopped counting at 22%. This is bordering usury my friends. I take a modicum of solace noting that it would be the same tax rate regardless of where I went, but it still sucks.

Day One

“Goooooooood Morning Vietnam! It’s 0600 hours. What does the “O” stand for? O my God it’s early!” –Adrian Cronauer

By 0600 we were half way to Tennessee. Mr. B, who we woke up at 0515 was still awake, and would be for some time to come. After about two hours of “Wasss sat?” we opted to begin the movie marathon. In order, he watched, Finding Nemo, Bugs Life, Shrek 2, and Bambi. After that he finally took an hour long nap.

I am happy to report that Indiana was considerate enough to have a changing station in the Men’s room. It was highly unusual. They were the only one that I noticed on the first leg of the trip.

Once we arrived in Champaign Illinois, I hopped back into the car (different car) to go get some bourbon. Evidently, the wife’s uncle is also a bourbon drinker and we were out. After a dinner of Sam’s Club lasagna, I head to bed.

Yesterday found me and the family over at the parents house. I'm bugging my Dad to borrow the truck again, I found an ass-load of rot in some of my raised garden beds and thus need to get landscape timbers to fix them. Mr. B was "playing" golf, i.e. he was flailing a putter at a golf ball on the driveway (no too dissimilar from me, but I at least contain my flailing to the driving range or course), while Miss L was busy spewing on the wife. Seriously, I have no idea how the girl is gaining weight, she blows chunks every time she eats. When I say, "blows chunks" I mean it. She doesn't do a little spit up. Miss L would give Linda Blair a run for her money (no head spinning, thankfully).

After discussing the finer points of gardening with my Dad (he was pushing more plants on me and telling me of his next beer money making scheme), we head inside. What do we find there? A Nintendo Wii! I want to know what happened to my parents! These are the same people who steadfastly refused to buy a minivan while my sister and I were growing up.

I could have used one of those while growing up. I was always tall, six foot by the sixth grade, and thus would have my knees in my Mother's back while on car trips. We're not just talking about the quick jaunts to family close by. We went to Maine every summer for a long weekend, six to seven hours each way (Massachusetts is a very long state, you might not think so looking at a map, but just drive it one time, from east to west, or west to east.). That is not to forget the trips from NJ to south Fla. to see my Father's family in Ft Lauderdale. Those trips were multiple days and we logged over 24 hours in a car. So yes a minivan would have been nice. For the record, they have a minivan now. So they can drive their friends around.

Now, they by a video game console. I could never get them to buy one while I was growing up. Hell, I wasn't even allowed to buy one with my own money. This is not to say that I had to go without gaming as a child, we had a TI 99 4/A and an Apple IIe. Neither was really known for its gaming abilities, but it took the edge off, I suppose. (Kind of like self abuse takes the edge off, yep you don't ache anymore but it's not very satisfying either.) Of course, we had to play an "educational" game first, before we could play a fun game.

Oh well, at least they have one now (for their grandkids). I took out my frustrations on my Dad playing Wii tennis. I beat him three games to none and he only score one point (or 15 taking into consideration how scoring in tennis is done).