Kristina's Command Center

Hi fans,

So Kris has been complaining relentlessly for years about how much she hates her work area. Doesn't matter the house we're in, it doesn't matter the desk we've got at the time - she's never been happy with her situation before. The desk she's been most recently using, for about the last three years or so, worked well for awhile, but it was small and Kris' gigantic, assortment of crap was quick to spill all over the damn place.

The whole clutter problem thing finally reached a boiling point, though, when we moved into our house back in February and Kris established a work area in our living room. This area, for whatever reason, was quick to collect all sorts of papers, CDs, kids toys, empty glasses, and just about every, other sort of 'desk clutter' imaginable.

As this was the case, and taking into consideration Kris' upcoming birthday, myself and her in-laws pitched in and bought her a new giganto-desk.

...'Desk' really isn't an appropriate label for this large, chunk of tree, though. Let's call it a 'command center.'


I'm pretty sure someone whittled this thing out of a sequoia, but I'm not a lumberjack so I can't stand by this. I do know that it took me over four hours to assemble the damn thing, and it weighs more than our van. Its merit, though, outweighs (puns!) its massive girth: Kris finally has a wide-open space upon which to pile her numerous trash-heaps of God-knows-what.

Probably bills. I don't know what she does.

Anyway, here's what it looks like...

-Brian

Abby's Gauntlet

So, it's been 2 months already since Abigail entered into our crazy family and the time has come for her to endure the obstacle of vaccines that is mandatory for any child to go through.

5 vaccines is the requirement at this age, 4 of them being given in shot form. I'm not too much of a fan of this, but I don't have much of a choice. It's not the shot thing that bothers me as much as the pumping my infant full of God knows what, but I do acknowledge the necessity.

Well, Brian and I decided that not only is she going to fulfill this requirement of hers, but that she should also get her ears pierced and claim her womanhood now.

Yes, you heard me right, we chose to do all of these things in one foul swoop at her 2 month check-up. Poor child.

By the way, Abby is now rocking out at 10 pounds 4 ounces and is somewhere in the 25-50th percentile, and somewhere between 50-75th percentile in length at 22 3/4 inches. This far surpassing her sister who is still rocking out below the 3rd percentile in weight. Go Alayna!

(Their doctor demands Alayna get nothing but the fattiest and most sugar filled foods possible to get her back on the curve).

Needless to say, Abby was not a fan of being pierced w/ so many needles all at once, but she recovered quickly and here's a shot of the end result (earrings, not vaccines).

-Kristina

p.s. Alayna scored some new pink earrings also

Heartbreak Revisited

Hi folks.

So the other day, I was scanning a bunch of old papers, reports, drawings, and documents that I had stored away in a bin in my Man Room. I do things like this on occasion when I feel I'm not being O.C.D. enough.

Anyway, as I was going through a particular cache of old papers, I stumbled upon an old letter to a friend:


Oh yes. "For Relatives... or Santa." Its an old Christmas list.

I especially like the 'seal' that I drew on the back of the letter itself, as if to guarantee the authenticity of the document (yes, this really came from a seven year old) and that no one, prior to Santa and/or relative, was privy to the important information therein.

Anyway, here's what the letter had to say:


I think that, besides the fact I couldn't spell my own name by the age of 7, this is a pretty solid Christmas list. Two, specific items listed, with a third option for 'some other things.' That leaves a lot of wiggle room for a Santa Claus or parent, I should think. Kind of hard to get any of this wrong, right?

Now here's the kicker: I didn't get anything off this Christmas list in 1987.

How do I know this important document is from 1987? I did a little research into one of the items taken off this list, the G.I. Joe Cobra Wolf vehicle. It appears on this website, in an archive that maintains descriptions and pictures from past G.I. Joe toys.

This particular toy comes from the 1987 line-up. That December, when the toy was on the shelves, I would've been seven. If memory serves correct, the Christmas my family celebrated when I was seven was one that found Yours Truly bedridden with a nasty fever and unable to join my family opening up presents around the Christmas tree. To make matters worse, my extended family was in town, and I was quarantined in the sick tent that was my bedroom upstairs.

Sure, periodically I was brought up a present from the downstairs festivities, but on this particular Christmas, my folks decided that their sons had probably had enough action figures, Nintendo, and otherwise 'awesome' toys, and instead opted to provide us with an 'educational' Christmas.

Although much of this holiday has been subconsciously suppressed in my memory bank, due to sheer crappiness, I do remember receiving plenty of books, wooden old-fashioned toys, do-it-yourself science experiments, and the like. Not too shabby if you're a nerd, or living in the '50s, but, for a seven year old like me who enjoyed shooting plastic missiles at everything under the sun, this was a Christmas that arguably rounds out the worst I've ever experienced (my Christmas in Ghana is right up there, too).


So, if this Christmas list does correlate accurately with the aforementioned Christmas, I think this says a lot. Mom, Dad, if you're reading this, I think its high time you gave me what I'm owed. I require some serious reparations... or whatever it's called. You know, where the descendants of slave-holders give the descendants of slaves some sort of 'ma bad' offering.

I'll accept either of the following gifts:

1.) (x1) G.I. Joe Cobra W.O.L.F. (Winter Operational Light Fighting) Vehicle

2.) (x1) Lego Pirate Harbor Playset

Thank you.

- Brian

Summoned to the Hall of Justice

Ju-ju-jury duty!!!

Oh yes, folks - the powers that be have decided that Mr. Hough should hold the fate of his fellow man in his just fists of iron. This has been a long, long time coming, and - to be completely honest, here - I was beginning to think that maybe I'd never have the chance to play God and cast down harsh judgment upon my peers.

Maybe I didn't send the judicial system a Christmas card last year or something, I don't know.

Anyway, lots of folks complain about receiving a summons from the district courts, but not this guy. This guy is frickin' stoked - yes, stoked - about being summoned to do this. I can't wait to sit through the judicial process and fulfill the ol' civil duties.

Sure, the pay sucks, and I think there's a strong possibility this might end up sucking something fierce in the long run, but it'll be a nice switch-a-roo from the usual toddler-wrangling/yard-battling I've been doing for the last month or so.

Here's hopin'.

- Brian

The Colonel's Twenty-Tenth Birthday

Nobody enjoys getting old. No longer being able to identify myself as a twenty-something has been grating on my conscious for the last two years or so, and now that this lackluster milestone is being breached, I'm besides myself and prostrate with grief.

I really, really liked being 'in my 20s.' That was cool with me. Being '30'? Nope.

Nothing about being 'in my 30s' sounds appealing. Birthdays stopped getting awesome when I turned 25 (when my insurance rates went down), and ever since that year the passing birthdays have simply been a steady, solemn march towards the big 3-0.

There's no silver-lining to turning 30, either. Shut up if you think there is, 'cause there's not. Sure, there's a strong probability I will grow more gray hairs, but I'm a blond, and therefore don't have the benefit of obtaining that distinguished salt/pepper thing. I'll end up looking like my old golden retriever Dreyfus right before he died.

(Rest in peace, Dreyfus)

So how does yours truly get down upon marking this depressing occasion? I'm not doing a Goddamn thing. No cake, no parties, no nothing. Kris has reluctantly agreed to watch the kids for a day so I can sulk about the house and pass the day as painlessly as humanly possible. I'm arming myself with Sailor Jerry's, watching hours upon hours of old TV shows from the 1980s, and playing video games until my eyeballs bleed.

Almost 40,

- Old Man McHough