Daddy Pants

Alayna's REALLY excited for St. Patrick's 
Day.  This is who she seems to think
the day is named after. . .

What's up, players.


How's everybody doin'?  Good?  That's cool.  We're good, too.

So lately the Cannonball has been getting herself into trouble at school.  Hard to imagine, I know.  Evidently, she's assumed that ever-sacred mantle of 'Class Clown,' and has been havin' herself a gay ol' time wearing it in.  Runnin' her mouth when she's not supposed to, not following teacher instruction, leading other students towards disruptive behavior, etc. 

Not surprised, given the attitude of this particular three-year old.  Nevertheless, its still aggravating to have teachers refer to your child as a 'ringleader' when pick them up from school.  The last thing I want to hear from my kid's teacher after spending eight hours dealing with the consequences of other people's poor parenting skills is being confronted about the consequence of my poor parenting skills. 

Not cool.

Pfft.

For example, as we all know, the terms poop, fart, booger, and butt are all rip-roaring hilarious.  As I progress into my adult years, these words can always be counted on for much-needed chuckles.  Obviously.  Yet, as we all know, there's a time and a place for these hilarious words... say, the bathroom.  That's a good place, since it somehow has something to do with poop.  And butts.  Or when you're playing out of ear-shot of meddling adults... as adults will bust you for using such words inappropriately.

Alayna hasn't mastered such rules of thumb, and has been lately using her newly-acquired vocabulary to get laughs from other students in her classroom.  Leading students in loud chants of 'booger butt,' 'stinky poops,' etc., in direct defiance of teachers' directions to cease and desist.

You can imagine how much I've enjoyed picking up my kid from school lately.

I guarantee Bart Simpson's a better drummer than Meg White...

But, before all of you readers out there in cyber space throw me to the wolves for my sub-par parenting skills, it should be noted that my daughter is acquiring an excellent taste in music.  She's lately been obsessed with the White Stripes song 'Little Ghost' off their Get Behind Me Satan album. 

Not sure why that song, really, but her jammin' out to the White Stripes sure beats the hell out of listening to any of those shitty kid covers of Now That's What I Call Music! songs some parents play for their kids.

Anyway, in other news, we recently decided to bite the bullet and replace the TV remote that magically disappeared from our living room. . .  FOUR MONTHS AGO.  Why did we wait so long to replace something so simple as a remote?

Plunder of Gnomes

Well, readers, I'll tell you why:  remotes can't be returned, and the second you open up an item that can't be returned - like a remote control - the original magically resurfaces.  We were attempting to avoid that at all costs this time around, as it's happened to us before. 

Months ago, we assumed that sooner or later our missing remote would re-materialize from the random, cross-dimensional wormhole it had somehow slid into... or else the house gnomes had grown weary of constantly watching us get up from our couch to change the channel or source input on the side of our TV, and decided to give it back.

Alas, that elusive remote never did resurface like we had wanted it to. . . even after four months of patiently waiting for it.  So, we decided to bite the bullet.  Kris went out and bought a super-duper universal remote that not only controls the TV, but also the surround sound system, and the DVD/VCR player. 

Its awesome, and, of course, un-returnable.


. . . which is why later that afternoon, after opening the new remote, programming it, and throwing away the packaging, our beloved house gnomes decided to give us back our original, long-lost TV remote.

Thanks a lot, gnomes. 

- Brian

3-Day Work Week, 3-Day Weekend

Hey cuties!

Hi fellas,

Hey, who enjoyed their Valentine's Day?!  That stupid, hyped-up Hallmark holiday that half you suckers out there probably stress yourselves out over?

You know wanna who didn't enjoy Valentine's Day?  Do ya?  I'll tell you who.

Me.  I can't stand Valentine's Day.

Here's why.

More or less.

Valentine's Day has always sucked for me, if only to remind me, on an annual basis, that I'm arguably the world's least romantic person in human existence.  Its surely contestable.  This didn't mind me so much back in my care-free single days - I wasn't trying to impress myself with thoughtful romantic gestures, now was I. . .

Why, that'd be just weird.

Now that I'm married - *dramatic sigh* - things have changed.  Sure, the Mrs. seems to share my sentiment that Valentine's Day is, after all, just some stupid holiday that Hallmark thought up in order to drive up mid-winter sales.  But deep down, I'm pretty sure she feels a tiny, tinge of rage whenever she has to endure yet another chocolate-less, rose-less, diamond-less, Lexus-less day.

Anyway, what makes it even worse - besides having to deal with my own romantic issues - is having to deal with all the teenage drama that comes with working at a MIDDLE SCHOOL on Valentine's Day.

Holy.  Shit.

Middle Schoolers LOVE the Punic Wars. . .

Now, you'd think that kids would be crapping their pants in excitement over learning about the Punic Wars.  Sitting on the edge of their seats, wide-eyed and fixated on each, nail-biting PowerPoint slide in my lecture.  Hannibal's crossing of the Alps, the slaughter at Trebbia and Cannae, the Roman surprise maneuver at Zama...

...but NOOOO.

Turns out kids these days are more interested in what one another's boyfriends, girlfriends, and - gasp! - secret crushes received for Valentine's Day.  Was Alejandra's stuffed animal bigger and, dare I say, cuter, than J'monique's?  Did Jamar get more chocolates than Carlos?  This, dear readers, was the talk of the day in Mr. Hough's class.

Screw Hannibal.  Screw the Punic Wars.

Give the masses stuffed animals and sugar.  Long live Valentine's Day.

pfft. . .

My outdoor office. . .

Anyway, that was the first day in a grueling three-day work week for yours truly.  I suppose I can't complain about that crap too much.  I did get to spend a lot of time this week writing, which has been awesome lately - I wish I had more time on hand to do so.

This weekend I also had a considerably fruitful run at the Salvation Army in Kissimmee.  I generally try and find random oddities, antiques, and obscure collectibles on such runs to the ghetto thrift store, and today proved to be a successful - and inexpensive venture.

For $3.26, I picked up a necktie and a paperback.  The book was J.R.R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion - kind of like the Old Testament to the Lord of the Rings.  It reads like Deuteronomy or Numbers, too... but for avid fans of Tolkien, its a must-have, and my old copy is probably growing dust - or worse - back where I left it... in the bowels of West Africa.  On some random tro-tro.

I doubt a Ghanaian got into that one...

While this book was well work the dollar I paid for, it was the tie that made my day.  For a mere $2, I picked up a brand-new tie depicting scenes from the Bayeaux Tapestry - the medieval piece of art (and arguably the most famous tapestry in history) that described William the Conqueror's Norman invasion and subsequent victory over the Saxons at the Battle of Hastings in 1066 AD.  If that's not gangster, than I don't know what is.

I'm totally wearing this to Dave's wedding next month, by the way - stay tuned for pictures and tales from that adventure.

In closing, I'd like to mention that Kris and I decided to take the kids out for dinner tonight.  We hit up an Applebees in Hunter's Creek, based solely on the fact that we didn't feel like anything specific and its always loud as holy hell in there - our kids probably wouldn't stand out so much.

We're generally optimistic people, but the Houghs don't necessarily have the grandest track record when it comes to eating out with the kids in tow.  We were expecting to drop the usual $30 or so for our meal, receive shoddy service at best, suffer through the eye-rolling and teeth-sucking of those sitting around us as our kids hop about screaming, and be forced to rush through the meal due to toddler freak-outs and temper tantrums.

Surprisingly enough, this outing featured nothing of the sort.  For starters, beer was two for one, and the server - for whatever reason - decided to charge my Shock Tops as two Bud Lights.  Hell, I'm not going to complain - that's about a $2 or $3 difference between the two.  Much appreciated server.

If that wasn't enough good news for us to walk away from dinner feeling satisfied - and it very well could've been - we were granted another stroke over extraordinary luck.  Throughout the meal, our kids were loud.  That's how 2 - 4 years olds roll - they're loud, they're obnoxious, and half the crap that comes out of their mouth makes you cringe and look about public areas nervously.

Sitting next to us throughout the meal was a large group of twenty-somethings - maybe seven or eight of them, sharing drinks and having a good time.  Whenever I have my kids out with me in a situation like this, and I find myself surrounded with people who don't have kids, it worries me.  I was convinced that these young adults would loathe sitting next to our kids, and complain about the subsequent noise and chaos erupting from our table.

But they were all DEAF!!

. . . all the time. . .

Yes, readers, every last one of them.  I cast a nervous glance in their direction at one point during our meal and saw them signing away with great animation.

...Either that, or they were throwing up some serious gang signs at one another.  I can't seem to fathom the likelikhood of two, rival suburban, all-white gangs sitting down for a meal together at an Applebees, though.  Call me crazy.

So that was a stroke of brilliance on the hostess' part I definitely wasn't expecting - sitting the couple with the loud-ass kids next to the table full of deaf people.  Nicely done, Applebees, nicely done.

But we're not done yet.  There's more.

Godzilla inhales her fudge sundae. . .

I wasn't hungry, and had decided to drink my dinner instead, but Kris' meal came and she enjoyed it without issue.  The girls didn't eat either - we had filled them up before we left so they wouldn't waste a plate of food that we paid for (that usually happens, regardless of whatever fried, kid-friendly food we put in front of them). But we did decide to treat them to dessert - what the hell - and ordered them some ice cream the minute we sat down at the table.

. . .and with her, as always, is Flynn Rider.

As it turns out, we did not get charged for this.  At all.  Our server straight-up decided not to charge us for the kiddie desserts.  I'm assuming this is because they're both pretty small, and we just ordered 'ice cream.'

Instead he came back with a fudge sundae for Abby and strawberry shortcake and ice cream for Alayna - free upgrades on what we had ordered.  This leads me to believe that he either a.) just gave us better desserts that someone else had changed their mind on, free of charge, or else b.) accidentally gave us someone else's desserts and did not want to get dinged on the tip.

Either way, the kids were happy for getting sugar, and we were happy about getting our $14 bill.  Less than half of what we were estimating to be seated next to a table full of deaf people during happy hour.

We tipped him $10.  Thanks, homeboy.

- Brian

Rich People, Dead People, and Papa

If it's one thing Florida has, it's decent weather.

Morning commutes down here rule...

Yes, I might complain about the congestion, or the traffic, or the cost I accrue when traveling home for the holidays, or even the bizarre third-world vibe that I get while driving to work.  These are all sound reasons why someone born and raised among the open fields and dense forests of central Michigan would detest living in urban sprawl.  It ain't for me.

But you cannot - cannot - complain about Florida winters.

I would've been pissed...

Unless, of course, you're flying down here to visit only to find that the temperature down here is colder than the frigidness you just left behind in Michigan.

This, dear readers, is exactly what my Dad got to enjoy during this last visit of his:  a brutal cold-snap that seemed to last only while he was in Orlando - settling in the morning of his arrival and vanishing the morning of his departure.

Any way you look at it, that just plain sucks.

Yes, Dad came down to visit for the weekend - just an in-and-out deal, but one that serves as a decent break from the grueling mid-winter slums that accompany this time of year.  Due to the fact the weather was dismal, we didn't hit up the parks or anything like that; besides being abnormally cold, it was also windy.  Grilling outdoors - which is usually a breeze - was a nightmare.

So, while we were confined to the indoors, we decided to occupy the kids as best we could - hitting up Puzzles with the kids, decorating Valentines cupcakes, and, of course, watching copious amounts of television.

Walking Dead

If I had to choose a theme for this weekend, it'd probably have to be dead people.  They were everywhere, whenever you turned on the television.  Being avid fans of AMC's Walking Dead, Dad and I decided that this weekend would be an excellent opportunity to barnstorm our way through the first six or seven episodes of Season II over the course of the first two nights of his visit.  This is a much better approach than, say, waiting a solid week for a 48-minute, commercial-ridden, cliff-hanger.

Spartacus

That's exactly what I'm doing with Spartacus: Vengeance, and it's frustrating beyond all rational thought.

Not all walking dead people on TV try to eat the living, though.  Sometimes they help present The Oscars.  Yes, we sat through the Oscars.

I'm not proud of it.

Highlight of the night.  Bar none.

But hell... we were out of zombies and Brett McKenzie was up for an Oscar for his Muppets work (a double-bonus for me, as I love Flight of the Conchords and the Muppets).  Hell, that's like watching a movie where Indiana Jones wields a lightsaber and rides a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Did you know this guys is still alive?

Sign me up.

The glitz, the sleaze, the corn-ball speeches, and the slew of 'holy shit, they're not dead?' over the course of the three or four hour run (not sure exactly how long it was - we sure as hell didn't stay up for the end) was more than enough of a reminder for me as to why I don't usually watch crap like that in the first place.

Hopefully they have crack in Hell...

I don't know if they honor Whitney Houston every year at the Oscars or what, but I sure got tired of hearing about that ol' crackhead.  Sheesh...

Anyway, Dad flew out Monday morning, and I had previously decided to take the day off in order to lesson plan and work on crap around the house (that would've otherwise taken up time during Dad's visit).  I'm a big fan of three-day weekends anyway.  So, while I'm hacking away at this, here's some pics and footage from Dad's visit.

Enjoy.

Dad brought some of his check-up equipment down with him, per our request, in order to better asses the girls' recent bouts of coughing...

...not sure why, really, since we already had a set here at the house.  Oh well.

If she continues down the whole 'Doctor' path, maybe I can afford to be put into one of those senior communities where the old guys get to drink scotch and drive golfcarts around, prowling for hot, 74-year-olds.  A man can dream...

Abby didn't so much decorate cupcakes, per se...

 

 

Valentine's Day Cupcakes - finished product

Alayna Rapunzel - deep into the middle of yet another lecture...

Preparing for a wagon ride in sunny ol' Florida...

Yo Gabba Gabba - visual heroin for kids.

 - Brian

Winter Drudgery (in Pictures)

Hey guys,

Work has been absolute hell lately, so I haven't had time to write much lately, let alone come up with anything clever or profound to say.  My apologies.  This generally happens this time of year, though - January through early March is a horrible, horrible time of year.  Post-holiday depression, nothing really to look forward to (besides St. Patrick's Day, which is still over a month away), and the workload is heavy due to our upcoming annual round of FCAT (Florida's infamous standardized test).

I'm also consciously aware of the fact that this here blog of ours has lately turned into one, gigantic photo-journal.  I like to at least touch base from time to time with updates, even if there hasn't been jack-shit going on around here lately.  And so, with that in mind, here's some more random crap from the Houghs.

Enjoy.

This LeapPad of Alayna's has been a big hit since Christmas.  Unfortunately, she only really gets to play with the damn thing as much as we'd like - the only time it sees use is when Abby's asleep or otherwise distracted.  If Abby's around, a chaotic screaming match ensues over who gets to wield the tablet... and as much as we like screaming matches in this house, it's better to just avoid this one as much as possible.

The Cannonball's reading of Dr. Seuss's Go Dog Go

The Playroom - recently reorganized (Note: swords and armament displayed on wall - that was my contribution)

More of the Playroom...

Strangely enough, the beanbag chairs have actually facilitated a greater desire to read around the house - which is totally fine with us.

Our kids are bipolar.

Over the last couple of months, the Cannonball had been acting up and having a real hard time following directions. After multiple failed attempts at curbing said behavior, we created this incentive-based behavior chart: Alayna gets a sticker every time she completes a task the first time we ask her (cleaning up her toys, getting dressed, eating all her food, cleaning up her plate afterwards, and brushing her teeth.). If she accrues 30 stickers in a week, she gets a $1, which is then deposited in a special box.  In essence, we've created an allowance system for her, and it seems to be working pretty well so far...

Making valentines for her classmates....

She's one of only a couple kids in her class that can actually write her name without assistance. Probably due to the awesome job her parents are doing at raising her.

Alayna wanted to watch Voltron.  Who the hell am I to say no to that?!

Hide and seek

 

 Sharing, Hough style.

- Brian