Oh hello there. I suppose I should start with that. Hello. After all it has been quite a while since I've been anywhere near this thing. Almost seven months actually. Stopped right on my son's third birthday. There were some very good reasons for that. But I've been back in that groove of seeing random nonsense - quite often from my kids - and jotting it down on scraps of paper to write about. Add I feel a social obligation to update people on my son's nipple-fixation that compels me to get back on here and frankly warn all of you to wear something thick that he couldn't penetrate easily. May I suggest chain mail. It's cumbersome but it stops his advances at least 60% of the time.
Anyhoo - let's see if I can bash out a quick catch-up in as quick and breezy a fashion as possible.
- I'm now divorced. Hence the main reason for the silence. I realize this usually conjures up grim images of horrid fights and lengthy, tense argumentative court battles. But the ex-wife and I avoided all of that. This is likely one of the most civil and helpful divorces in modern history. No arguments. No fights. None of that pish. We just grew apart so went well out of the way to make everything as smooth as possible for our kids. Last time I wrote we knew then we were splitting and had known for many months prior. Which generally isn't all that funny to write about - nor helpful to do so either. But hey - we get on rather well now, actually. I'm not saying it was or is easy but it absolutely is the best way that we can both be better parents for our kids.
- I no longer live in that house. I now live in Utica, NY. I'm well aware that at one time or another (actually it was probably closer to about three hundred times) I referred to Utica as the, "sweaty taint of New York state." I think I even said that if New York was the human body then Utica was the genital wart that desperately needed lancing. Still - where I live is actually very nice. It doesn't have the leafy, out-in-the-country room of my old place. But then again I no longer have to inhale the rancid stench of fresh-from-the-factory sour cream, skunks guffing all over the backyard or fox feces that the dog rolled in. The dog and the kids still live there with their mother. We thought it was absolutely fundamental that the kids stayed in, "their home" so that life changed as minimally as possible. Mission Accomplished there. We're all still adjusting but we avoided any of the cliche, "your-shit-is-on-the-lawn-and-I've-called-the-cops" nonsense of a lot of divorces.
- My son is now in daycare. And loves it. It's a very informal place and is six doors down from his house. So everything seems familiar and he knows exactly where he is. He's really opened up since going there too and I haven't heard one instance from the woman who looks after him that he's attempted to poke her boobs in anyway. He's probably just biding his time there. He's still a nipple tweaker of absurd proportions. Plop him in his mother's lap or in my arms and it's a matter of seconds before he goes for broke. His current favorite words are, "peanut butter," "bum cheeks" and "train." His sister is now in First Grade. And while she is getting unusually tall and her baby teeth are falling out like a meth addict she is still only six. Mind you she did use the phrase, "yeah but not literally..." the other day, which has the disturbing overtones of a whiny teenager.
- I now also live with my girlfriend and her massive dog. One is called Rebecca and one is called Tyson. I'll trust you to assign those names appropriately and not assume that I was being coy with the term, "girlfriend." So no, I did not get divorced and shack up with a very large, angry black man. Still - we've known each other for about four years and neither of us remotely expected to get together purely out of circumstance. But you know - I'm delightful. So whilst fighting off the legions of women who had been alerted by the local authorities that I was now available I remembered her making me laugh my arse off in work and figured I'd catch up and just be friends. Mind you I also remembered that she worked a second job in a bar and has an amazing rack - so that somewhat sweetened the pot there. But it's going gangbusters at the minute and couldn't be happier in that regard. Especially as we both seem to say whatever complete bollocks enters our heads without feeling guarded at all. It's not every day that I can jokingly tell someone about my idea for a nightclub for menstruating women called Ketchup and then have them immediately on board with the idea by joking back that they can imagine confident-yet-bleeding women strolling over to the men inside and saying, "fancy dipping your french fries in this, baby...?" and pointing at their crotch, So yeah - it's incredibly liberating to actually be myself without fear a doctor/police officer/animal control might be called.
Although I have been told (apropos of nothing, by the way) not to use the words, "panties," "moist" ever. Nor describe cheese as wet - even if it patently is. Oh - and if you're wondering my son has indeed chanced his arm and so far has just the one attempt at grabbing her nipples. Incredibly subtle too - in that way that right afterwards my girlfriend looked at me confused (and she had definitely been forewarned) and asked, "....what just happened..?" Mind you seeing as she's amply endowed in that area she's used to everyone in the room at least gawking at her chest. My son just happens to be one of only a handful who've taken the plunge and actually had the nuts to give them a grab.
- Speaking of massive - did I mention my girlfriend's dog is quite large? He's a black German Shepherd. Not even two yet, so still has that puppy mentality. To give you some idea of his size yesterday someone came to the front door with a clipboard. God only knows what they wanted. Because once the dog emerged in the front window and started barking at them they quickly left the driveway and went about their day. If I had to identify one thing I didn't like about him it would be that he seems to ritually crush my testicles. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and accepting that he's just clumsy. But frankly when I'm sat on the couch and he rumbles over, stamps on my plums and then ironically drops a tennis ball right onto my damaged crotch - then looks at me with a, "here - I brought you a new ball - snort..." I begin to doubt that. Fecker.
-Anyhoo that'll do for now. In the meantime here are two reminders that all of your kids are ugly relative to mine. Obviously some of them are even just plain ugly even without comparing them to my delightful angels. But feel free to print out the below photos and pin that up on the fridge so that your kids can at least see what they could have looked like had they not been hideous freaks.