Rough Housing With Dad

I have to tell you about my Dad, I have been noticing that he has not been hitting the treadmill the way he used to. I love the old man and being well.. his kid decided that I would make it my mission to make sure he gets the recommend amount of activity he needs to keep him fit.

Every night I hand Dad my blanket and some pillows and we duke it out. I run down the hall and he hides. I love his face when he thinks that he scared me. He jumps behind various walls of the house and waits for me. I hear him giggling to Mom and asking her where I am. She narrates my trip down the hall. "He's at the bathroom, rounding the kitchen, coming NOW!" What do they think I am, friggin deaf? Hello guys, I'm in the same room?

Dad jumps out and I pretend to jump in shock. Dad laughing and breathless asks Mom, "Did you see his face?" His enthusiasm is really quite sweet. I hate deceiving him but he just gets such a kick out of it. You've got to love the guy!


COMING DOWN THE HALL


APPROACHING DAD


JUMPING ON HIS BACK


YOU GOT ME DAD


I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE THERE

Rough Day!

So today while contemplating just where I would go on my first vacation my Mom and Dad starting talking about going bye-bye. Yippee..I love bye-bye. I run and get my sandels. Sitting down on my Wiggle couch I wait for mom to help me put them on. Mom comes over and starts putting socks on my feet which always means sneakers. Why the sneakers? Does my footwear preference mean nothing to her? She finishes doing that loopy do thing she does with sneakers and I run to the back door. She says, "No baby, we are going in the car." God damn I never get it right I run to the front door she says we are going on the deck I run to the back door she says car I can't win. Remind me never to gamble.

Daddy takes my hand and we head down the stairs. I start down the steps and Dad starts his counting. I will never understand the relentless counting. How many times does he go down those stairs a day. Dude, it's five steps. Just do it. Maybe he has OCD. I feel kind of bad for the old man. Maybe next time I count them for him.

Mom carries the loud, pink bundle they call Skye. Where are we going? The park, Aunt Teresa's, Mom and Tot Group? No! We end up at Babies are Us. Daddy picks me up because I tried to walk over to these really cool shades I wanted to check out. I try to explain that I am just going to try on some sunglasses and I'll catch up to him and mom later. It's a no go. He walks with mom over to the women who takes our money and we are out the door. Mom puts Skye in her car seat and Dad puts me in mine. We start on our way home and the bundle of hair sitting next to me starts wailing. Dad catches my eyes in the mirror. He says, "Pooh, you look like someone pooped in your lunch or someone stole your pony" or some other ridiculous statement that is no longer cute. You think Dad!? Do you think I look pissed!? Babies R friggin us? Give me a break old man. I spend the rest of the ride listening to my Dad make up words to songs, mom is reading a magazine and my sister screaming her head off. I can't wait to get home and take a nap. My head is killing me. Lord give me strenght!

Painting the Deck?

So today, Mom asks if I want to go out. Hello? Do I poop in my diaper? So, we go to the deck, mom brings the screaming pink bundle and we head to the swing. Mom and I sit with the bundle who is finally quieting down and she starts us moving. We were on the swing for a moment when mom shot up and headed to the house. She comes out with, get this, a bucket of water and a paint brush? Is she kidding? We live 2 friggin blocks from a lake, I have a blow up pool that is sitting unfilled in the corner of the deck and she brings me a bucket of water. She hands me the brush and says, "go on baby, paint the deck?" What? Does she think I am so dumb that I don't know that the liquid swishing around in the bucket is water? She takes the brush and sticks it into the water and proceeds to brush the deck. Ummm...come on now mom, have you been sniffing glue. That is not paint, and I am not going to do hard labor on a beautiful day. She is smiling so I figure I will entertain her. I snatch the stupid paint brush stick it in the water and touch it to the wood. As the beam turns the color of well..wet wood I hear mom. "Good boy. Jesse is painting the deck." I must admit as much as I hate it that it was god damn fun. What? So I wet the beam. Mom was happy and I got to play in water. So there.

Parents Suck!

Hey, can we talk? I want to discuss my parents. Dude I know I need them and everything, my being 2 and all but give me a freakin' break. Let's take today for instance. I ask for a crayon. Mom looks at me and says "what?" I mean hello! How else do you say crayon? I try again all the while pointing to the shelf where she keeps the damn colored yum, yum taste so good sticks of wax. I see a light bulb go off on her face and she hands me a broken piece of putried green crayon and tells me to get my paper. I scream and slam my hand on the table. A damn crayon women! She says, that is all there is and then I hear that pink bundle of pain in the ass start her opera. My sister Skye came into our home 2 months ago and nothing is right! Mom takes off to pick up the screeching pink bundle and I grab her legs as she tries to pass me. A crayon! Damn am I invisible? I take the stupid piece of putried wax that she handed me and reach for the flash cards she took out of the drawer an hour before. She said get paper and this sure looks like paper to me. She moves the flashcards out from under my crayon and says, "not on those!" What? She didn't specify what paper I can use. Paper is paper. Damn her, she is always stopping me from doing something I want to do. While she sits down to place her plump, dripping, flesh pillow into my sister's mouth I take the crayon and opps miss the little piece of paper she handed me. Wow, the crayon looks really good mixed with the color of the ottomen. I keep going. Maybe just maybe Mom and Dad will love my art work. They rave over every stupid mark I make on paper they are going to love this. I take my time, putting a lot of thought into the amount of strokes, the direction of my lines and the amount of pressure I apply to my art project. I am totally in the zone and the next thing I know my mom is sceaming "No!" God how I hate that word. Ripping the crayon from my clenched fingers and placing me in time out. Huh? She is so ungrateful. That is the last time I try to impress her. As I sit in my time out I contemplate my next art project. I have been checking out the wall next to the TV, I think it could use a few dashes with a key to give it that sutble texture look.