Wheat Disease

I was recently diagnosed with Celiac's Disease. I thought you all might enjoy exactly how this transpired. For those of you not keeping track, and shame on you if you aren't, I recently turned 45 and now fully understand and comprehend the nuances of a 'mid life crisis'. That's right, I'm suffering from a full blown doozie. (I'm talking about the crisis here) I will try to explain what goes through a victim's head and hopefully give you a glimpse into this terrible suffering. At some point, it's different for all of us in the brotherhood, you realize your hair isn't coming back, it takes 7-10 minutes to get out of bed, and you must get up at least twice to go the bathroom each night. I gradually understand that this is no longer a sexy resume'. I'm no longer getting sideways glances from anyone, not from younger girls, not from older girls, not from gay guys, and most certainly not from my wife. We all choose our own road here, there are different options available: new sports car, adventurous vacations, a mistress, maybe a new job, buying clothes you have no idea where to wear them at, etc. Some of these are dangerous to both life and marriage, some are a little more tame. I dipped my toe in the pool of pity and chose working out. I couldn't afford the car, don't have many close friends to adventure with, and I still love my wife. Rewind about eight months ago. I am listening to my favorite sports station on the radio and they keep advertising a new vitamin store. They get Bronco after Bronco to endorse this store, and I am intrigued. Let's face it, if I was 2.3 seconds faster in the 40, could bench an extra 270 pounds, and had better eye hand coordination there is not a lot of difference between me and the Denver Broncos. If they say it works it must, look at them for God's sake! I buy in, vitamins at first, then I decide to lift a little so I must need pre and post workout mixes and if I'm going to put on some muscle then I need a protein shake. The store makes you want to buy everything, I'm mesmerized. I know, good for me right? Give father time a swift kick in the crotch, back off dude. I continue my new found addiction through the new year. I am talking to a friend, yes, he is in the fraternity, and he brings up a mud race. Just what I need! I will prove to myself if no one else that I will not go quietly into the night! I sign up a couple months ago and start scouring Twitter for different workouts, I cannot look like an old codger. I start working out harder and this brings about a severe case of tennis elbow, I don't even play tennis. Sucks getting old. I actually make an appointment with the doctor, like old people do, because it really hurts. He tells me with a smirk, nothing you can do about it, take some Aleve, live with it you old fart. At this point I decide I better schedule a physical and get a blood panel done, after all, like most guys, I haven't been to the doctor in over 15 years. I do realize my 'advanced age' puts me at risk for my first rectal exam but decide to chance it, it would be far more degrading to be carried off the mud run course due to a coronary. I show up to my appointment with my game face on and am ready for any news. As it turns out I am not ready for the R E. This leaves me feeling violated and sad, especially as the doctor tells you to grab a tissue and clean your self up, you can put your clothes back on and he will be back in a minute. Sounds like a date gone wrong. I recover what's left of my dignity and get dressed and proceed over to the lab for the blood letting, at least I will be sitting down for this. The Dr's office calls me in a couple days and says my blood results are in and I should come in to talk to the doctor. Wait minute, why can't you tell me on the phone? It's going to be bad news I just know it. I show up and sit in the same room I was assaulted in a few days before and wait. He comes in very serious and says 'you have Anemia'. Thank God I think, that's all, low red blood cell count, no biggie. He stares at me and says your iron level is dangerously low. I'm sweating a little. It could be you are bleeding internally. I feel faint. He says it could be an ulcer, a polyp, or colon cancer. Things go out of focus a little bit. I am told very bluntly that I need a colonoscopy and an upper GI to find out the root of this evil. All I wanted to do was not die at the race and now this? F'n figures. He advises me a specialist for the procedure and makes an appointment a month later. I am discussing this with a family friend who is in the industry and he says come to our office, I can get you in earlier. Sure enough the next day I am seeing a specialist. He looks at the blood work tells me basically the same thing but also mentions he will look for Celiac Sprue when I am getting the procedure done. I'm thinking look for whatever you want just don't find anything bad. Two days later I am at the hospital at 6:30 a.m. getting prepped for my colonoscopy. My wife is with me and it's strange with the roles reversed, I have been by her side for 3 C-sections, and Apendectomy, and Thyroid removal. I am a rookie being on the bed. They strip me down, I put on the gown and get rolled into the procedure room. They tell me lay on your side, I'm thinking at least it's not bend over again. Then the oxygen is strapped on and they bring out the 'bite guard'. This a very disturbing piece of equipment, it's a piece of plastic with a hole in it that fits in your mouth and is strapped around your head like swimming goggles. I'm thinking no way I'm going under in a room full of strangers with my mouth forced open. As I begin to voice this opinion I wake up in the recovery room. Who knows what the hell just happened, I am missing about 45 minutes of my life and probably don't want to know. I am scheduled to see the specialist two days later for the findings and am told no ulcer, Amen! No Polyps, Amen! No cancer, Amen, Amen, Amen!! I have "unequivocal iron deficiency anemia caused by Celiac Sprue. What? Celiac disease, Amen! No more wheat and you will be better than ever. I'm thinking, alright, I get a ton of stuff done now, wait til I beat this thing! That's how I found out, sorry it's so long but you and I haven't chatted in awhile. Moral of the story, if you think you need to get checked, DO IT!! You may not know, but your body does!! Until then, hold the wheat, pasta, and pizza, bring me the Vodka.

"Chauffeur Thy Neighbor"

This one is a beauty! I've told the story to several people and all have enjoyed it greatly, so I bring it to you my loyal readers. By the way, this thing started out as a blog for the family and has kinda spiraled out of control. It makes me a little nervous when family members tell me how they have passed it on to others. Anyhoo, here we go, I hope you enjoy.

My wife and I recently purchased an investment property in a small town. That should send up a red flag right there seeing how most of you are from a small town. Instantly the neighbors are interested in what's going on and who the new owners are. We are able to keep a pretty low profile for the first month or so during the renovation, but then they start creeping closer. The folks on either side of us don't chat a lot, well I take that back, the one guy does but it's pretty harmless. It's the old couple across the street.

I am not an ageist! I can't wait to be that old guy that gets to say whatever he wants and people think it's funny or cute because he's old. You know, somewhere along the line old people go from grumpy to funny because they lose the filter. It happens to some sooner than others, but it just happens, and I can't wait.

So it begins with Leonard and his wife from across the street. I think they would have been over sooner but it's a long way down the driveway and across the street with a walker when you could just open your garage door, sit in your lawn chair, crack a beer, and talk to yourself, even cussing out loud once in awhile. This is Leonard's normal routine on nice weather days. (I told you, I can't wait) Leonard's wife is the first one over and notices that the company I work for also employed her grandson at one point and would I happen to know him. Seeing how I've been at the same company for 24 years, of course I know him, and instantly we are bonded together, kindred family for now and always. It takes repeating myself four times though to close this conversation out as Leonard's wife doesn't hear so good anymore, not so cute.

Fast forward a month or so, I'm at the property painting away inside and need to get something from my truck. I open the door and stop dead in my tracks, Leonard has muscled his way across the street and halfway up the drive, walker and all. A little dumbfounded, I ask if I can do anything for him and he replies, "I need some chuffeuring." I am rarely speechless, but just stare at him for a moment. I quickly try and recover. "You want me to drive you somewhere?" I ask him. "Yep, let's go." he says. I am quickly being shanghaied by this 80 something year old dude, again I throw up a roadblock. "I don't think you can get in my truck, it's pretty high off the ground." There take that Leo. "We'll take my car, come on, let's go." And he starts down the drive back to his house. Checkmate. I turn and go in the house to get my shoes and am wondering how this just happened. I trudge over to his garage and try one last time, "Are you sure about this? You don't even know me." He looks up from folding up his walker, stares me dead in the eye and says, "Oh I think I know you, let's go."

We get his walker stuffed in the back seat, complete with two tennis balls on the legs, I'm not kidding. We both climb into the front seat and it is awkward. He hands me the keys and says, "Head to the convenience store." Fortunately, the c-store is only six blocks away, but he still has time to ask me how I like this "ride" of his, and when I tell him it's real fine, he says he got it in '46, wait that's not right, '56. It's actually a 2006 but I let this go. We pull up to the store and he tells me to park in front, we have the 'sticker', and he points to the handicap hanger on the rear view. One perk of hanging with Leonard, front row parking. I walk around to help get his walker out and he tells me he doesn't need it here. I'm a little puzzled but we shuffle into the store. Leonard is greeted like Norm from Cheers by the crew of ladies working today, I realize why the old dog left his walker in the car, I'm starting to like this crafty s.o.b., he's still got some game.

He points out which twenty dollar lottery ticket he wants and crawls over to the only booth in the store to start scratching. Leonard has his own ticket scratcher and I realize I might have just stepped in it and could be here a awhile. He applies his system and scratches what appears to be a random box to me and wins two dollars, he looks up at me with a twinkle and says this one is a winner. I'm thinking, you spent twenty to win two? Then he scratches the rest of the ticket and it adds up to fifty bucks! He looks at me again and says, "I told you, now get me another." I have been entranced in this old guy's game now. I'm half way thinking he has a system. He scratches the next ticket and nothing. Now we are only up ten bucks so he gets out his wallet, cracks it open and it is stuffed. He grins and picks his way through and says to me, "This is about the ten dollar bill section." He hands me a ten and yells at the lady working the counter, "Give me a winner this time." She jokes that she already gave him the first winner but he's not having any of it. I bring back the ticket and he slowly scratches it, breathing loudly, not a winner. OK, I'm thinking time to go, but Leo thinks he wants one more ticket. This is like thirty minutes in now, so weakly I put my foot down and tell him I have to get back to painting. He tells the gal behind the counter to hurry up and give us a winner because "we" have to finish painting a house. Holy crap! Is this guy going hang with me while I work now? I start sweating a little trying to think of a way out of this. He eventually gets through the last ticket without winning another cent and we are ready to roll, or at least shuffle.

I get him out to the car and situated, we are back on the road, again it is awkward. I try and make small talk, and mention how he was pretty lucky to get a chance to scratch all those tickets and it not cost him a whole lot. Here's the doozy, I apologize to any that are offended, but it has to be quoted word for word. Leonard replies, "My dad used to tell me I was lucky enough to shit in a swinging jug." I almost swerve off the road and actually laugh out loud at this. He looks at me and says, "That's what he used to say to me." I recover somewhat and tell Leo that if he doesn't mind I'm going to be using that phrase from now on and he approves.

We creep into his garage and I gently bump the windshield against the tennis ball hanging from the ceiling to mark his spot and shut the car off. I ask if he needs help getting his walker out and he says no, at this point I'm off like a rocket across the street hoping he's not planning on watching me paint, I hear the door to the house open and his wife say something. Not sure if she is talking to me or Leo I don't look back and duck into my property.

We have installed a new peep hole at the property and use it every time before we go outside, just in case.

Dinner with the Family

I know it's been awhile but I couldn't let this one slip by. It's not that there hasn't been plenty of material to use I've just been lazy, and for that, I apologize. This just happened this evening as the family decided we should go out to dinner. We all kicked around a few ideas, and after deciding that we should stay close to home, the overwhelming decision was to hit one of our favorite Mexican food restaurants, Guadalajara. With the choice made I was silly enough to think we would just jump in the car and head out. Nope, not when your wife is a teacher, and your second grader is having trouble spelling 'another'. So after about fifteen minutes of agonizing spell check and re-writing we were ready. I, naturally, was the first in the car, passenger seat of course as my wife says I am not allowed to drive her new car. Whatever. That's when I notice my youngest son's swim goggles on the floor and decide it would be funny to be wearing them when my wife comes out. The two older boys get in the car and enjoy my hi jinx immensely. My wife then gets in the car, glances at me and declares that she is surrounded by 'freaks'. She is right, and the boys also enjoy this statement.

As we arrive at the restaurant and the conversation of what kind of car you need to have to impress the girls is wrapping up between the boys and their mother, we notice the place is going to be packed because of all the cars. This is now a signal to myself and the two older boys that we may have an 'audience' and we will all be bringing our A game. We are seated along a side wall in a booth, much to the dismay of the three Shepherd clowns. A booth really cuts down on our comic stylings, oh well we'll have to make the best of it. So after the eating of the lemon wedge races, and chugging down approximately four gallons of soda between the three boys things are winding down somewhat. That's when the oldest reaches deep into his bag of tricks and whips out a one liner that never fails to crack up the ten year old, "You know kid, you're a good egg". Harmless as it appears it has the desired effect and my ten year old starts laughing so hard he starts choking. Being versed in these situations I ask if he is alright, the choking continues, so I start to pat him on the back. He stops making choking sounds for a moment, glances up at me, then proceeds to vomit up his cheese crispy on the seat we are sharing. Yep, pukes. Now having three boys has steeled my nerves to such atrocities and I casually ask my youngest to hand me a napkin. I make the initial swipe for clean-up and toss the napkin in the empty chip basket on the table. Big mistake, I look at my wife, oldest son, and youngest son and they all start retching and gagging. Don't put it on the table, my wife says, right, like I'm going to put it in my pocket or something. I clean the rest up and cover the chip basket with another napkin, then head to the men's room and throw it all in the trash.

When I get back to the table, it's business as usual and everyone has recovered. Walking to the car my ten old says his shorts smell like puke now so he decides to strip down to his skivvies. The oldest refuses to be out done and follows suit. I tell my wife she should park in the drive and open the doors to embarrass them and she does. This plan backfires as the boys jump from the car in nothing but their underwear and run around the front yard insanely pleased with themselves. My oldest grabs a scooter and rides it down the block. The neighbor across the street that is trying to sell his house steps out on his porch and yells, this is why I can't sell my house. He is joking,..... I think.

Let this be a lesson to anyone who might be brave enough to come to our house, or worse yet, ask us out to dinner, you cannot stop us, you can only hope to contain us.

What do you do in the winter?

When I tell people that I am in the landscape industry usually their first question is what do you do in the winter. This always seems somewhat accusatory to me as if they are saying, "That sure sounds like a fun hobby." I will not bore you with what actually happens to landscapers in the winter let's just suffice it to say there are a lot of things to do that usually involve sub-zero temperatures and the dark while everyone else is snuggled up in their cozy beds. I digress.

Today brought about one of those things I not only do in the winter but just about every week around this house. Coincidence that this happened in the winter. Our dryer had slowly been failing for us and eventually we needed to do something about it. We would run a cycle only to find our clothes in a musty semi-dry semi-stagnant state. We would run it again and nothing changed. It crossed my mind to tear it apart to solve this problem, or I also suggested we just get a new one, so gen-x, give me instant gratification. Fortunately my wife's cooler head prevailed, again, knowing full well I could tear it apart but the putting it back together in working condition might be asking a little much. She also told me if we get a new dryer we have to get a new washer so they match, in the closet, where no one can see them, behind the doors. Stalemate.

We decide to call the local appliance store to see if we can get an easy fix. They are very cordial, and say a technician will be out in a couple days. Perfect. In a couple days the technician shows up and sure enough, the 'housing' is jammed with lint, throw on a new 'glide' we need and Shazam, fixed. Not bad, 45 minutes and $98.00 dollars later, good as new or so Victor says. My wife runs a cycle through and sure enough, nothing has changed. Freakin' Victor. We try a couple more loads and still crappy. Now I am a little disgruntled, my wife is very disgruntled, so something has to give. I call said appliance store and tell them the story, fortunately Victor is standing there to confirm my story, and they ask if they want me to have him come back out. At $75.00 an hour, hell no. I will take a look at the problem myself.

Being a man of average appliance intelligence I figure I will start with that coiled up dryer pipe behind the dryer, you know, the one that looks like a big slinky. I pull out the dryer and disconnect both ends of the slinky. I peer through both ends of said slinky and notice a small amount of lint, it's nowhere near the haul Victor pulled out of the housing but I decide it can't hurt to vacuum it out anyway. I also pick up sixty-seven cents, a lego light sabre, a sheriff's badge, and two nerf darts.

Being a man of average appliance intelligence I figure it must be the pipe that runs to the outside. I remember seeing the vent halfway up the side of the house since our dryer is on the second floor and am reminded that there is certainly no reason that this should be easy. I climb over the patio furniture being stored on the side of the house and eventually get on top of our six foot privacy fence. Did I mention it has started to snow and is eleven degrees? I am lucky in the fact that the fence puts me at the right height to work on the vent, but it also puts me at the right height to fall onto my air conditioner and break my neck. It could go either way at this point.

I notice the flap on the vent is not closed all the way and the vent is not straight anymore. Hmmm, curious. I look under the flap and see that the vent is stuffed with mulch, straw, and bird feathers. Are you kidding me? I feed them and give them water and this is how the s.o.b's repay me? I now try to twist the vent off so I can clean out this den of destruction. Easier said then done. I twist and pull and cuss losing my balance for a moment, then doing a Michael Jackson dance move I save myself. I go into King Kong mode and pull and twist harder to no avail.

I will not be beaten by a bunch of Finches!! I climb back down off the fence, through the patio furniture and over the hose rack. I go inside and call said appliance store. I tell Charlie what I have found and he chuckles and says he has seen it before. Great Charlie can you tell me how to remedy this situation instead of playing one upsmanship on me. He says there is no real science to it, you have to stick something in there and stir it around, sometimes a golf club works. Now I'm starting to like Charlie, a golf club, right tool for the right job.

I decide a ladder would also be useful so I go in the garage get out the sixteen foot extension ladder and after some great deliberation select a Tommy Armour 845 nine iron, it just feels right. I get the ladder set up somewhat stable, pull on my gloves, pick up my nine iron, and charge into battle. I am relentless, brutal, and unforgiving. I stir the nine iron around like I'm casting a spell of enormous magnitude. The nest is loose. I reach in and pull out a handful of mulch, straw, feathers, and half a Safeway bag, for real. Again I go all Harry Potter with my nine iron and pull out another handful littered with candy wrappers and mulch. Once more I set upon the nest like Tiger Woods from 160 yards, and finally pull out the last handful of trash.

I am victorious and delighted at this outcome. I put away the ladder and new nest plunging tool. I scamper inside to run a load of laundry through the dryer. Now I wait, 45 minutes later I check the clothes, they are so hot and dry I want to build a nest out of them and curl up, ironic huh?

Now you know what I do in the winter.

Bloody Mary

Take it easy, if you're thinking tomato juice and celery with a touch of pepper I'm sorry to disappoint you. We're dealing with my kids here ages 10, 8, and 5. For those of you that haven't heard the old wives tale, if you go into a dark bathroom and spin around three times chanting "Bloody Mary" after the third time you are supposed to look in the mirror and see the face of the ghost of 'Bloody Mary' pointing at you and saying "you're next!". Or at least that is the version my 10 year old brought home from school with him and recounted to the brothers grim.

So inspiring was his recollection that all bounded upstairs to test their mettle and the merit of the story. This, of course, transpired without my knowledge. The 8 year old showed his courage and undertook the task at hand, hoping nothing would happen but not entirely sure, what he did know, if he came out of it alive, was that bragging rights would be secured and a notch added to his belt. He lived.

But what has now happened is that there is a chance that something my be lurking in their bathroom, and hey, they dodged fate once, they weren't about to try it again, especially now that the weight of 'Bloody Mary' had settled in.

I had noticed the hushed tones and figured something was up, I'm sharp like that, but also noticed it was bedtime. The Nuggets were playing well in the third quarter so I told them all to brush their teeth and head for bed. Back to the Nuggets for me. I zoned out for about 20 minutes and then became aware of the fact that they were all huddled at the top of the stairs trying to figure out who would turn the lights on in the bathroom. "What is going on? I told you to get to bed." "Dad, can you turn on the bathroom lights?" "Are you kidding me?" Then they all three gushed out the story and how dangerous it could be for a kid to take the chance of turning on the lights. You probably feel compassion for the little tykes. Being father of the year, I got up and started making chicken sounds and flapping my wings, pecking and clucking all the way upstairs, usually chicken sounds is a quick way to start a fight between them but they all laughed and were relieved to see that good old dad, although making fun of them, would turn on the bathroom lights.

I wasn't finished, half way up the stairs I came up with another idea of sheer genius, it happens to me a lot it seems like, others may not agree. I remembered the ghost tour at the Stanley Hotel that my wife, her sister, and her sister's husband had went on in October. Sidebar, we went to the Stanley, as my wife is a paranormal junkie, to find ghosts. It was put on by a group that has a show on A&E that she loves. We got there and mingled in the lobby and the people from the show started to show up, and it was intoxicating to her, or maybe it was the wine. Either way she was ready to see a ghost. I noticed in the ballroom off the lobby that there was a stage that had curtains and told her sister I should hide behind them and make them move. Her sister said absolutely. So I did and she brought my wife in, she saw the curtains and couldn't believe it, no way. She told my sister-in-laws husband to go investigate, so he did, but as he got to the curtains he acted like something grabbed him and she freaked, until she figured it out, then was pissed. We all laughed and laughed. But I digress.

I decided to use the phantom grab job on the boys. As I reach in the bathroom I scream and get dragged in then pop back out laughing. They were not laughing, one had stumbled backwards and landed on his rump, speechless, and the other two screamed and started crying. Nice work Dad. I tell them I was just joking and the 10 year old and 5 year old accept it in a state of shock while the 8 year old hides behind the door screaming at me. I try to coax him out, apologizing the whole time, then he comes out swinging and screaming, OK, I deserve that, but his fury makes me laugh a little and this sends him into a frenzy. After I defend myself for a good 3 minutes it starts to subside, I ask again for forgiveness and am rejected. They finally make it to bed, and actually go to sleep surprisingly.

After all that I thought, you know, I could use a good Bloody Mary.



P.S. The 8 year old did forgive me, in the morning, kids are the best.

Customer 'Support"

Let me first start with the problem, my XBox. It may seem like a childish pursuit but let me tell you what, it is responsible for many, many, MANY adventures for everyone in the house. Yes even my wife. Seems she has an inner Janis Joplin in her and as soon as we acquired 'Rockband' the whole gaming situation took a turn for the better. That's right, the whole dang family downstairs with the music cranked, one of the boys on bass, one on drums, I (of course) have to be guitar, and mom on the vocals hammering out any number of tunes from Bon Jovi to the Foo Fighters.

I realize this is not your traditional 'family' time but then again, who said we are traditional, I hope we never are. Sometimes we put the kids to bed, pick out a 5 song set list, and go all Led Zeppelin up in here, it's great. So you can imagine the sadness, disappointment, and general malaise that set in when we saw the three red flashing lights on the front of the Xbox. When have you ever known red flashing lights to be good? That's right, never.

I contact a few experts in the gaming field, (my Bill Gates-like brother-in-law, and my neighbor, best toys in the world) to find out what kind of trouble I was in. I got the same response from both, ohh, those are the three red lights of death, your system is dead. What?! No in between, no just wiggle the cord, no turn it off then on a couple times? Just dead? Can't be. It can and is, both of them have been through it and talk me off the ledge. I am told just log on with your user name and put in your serial number, you registered it didn't you? Screeeech, stop the music. Log on? User name? Register? Does anyone really do that? Well apparently you should. My heart feels like it is being squeezed by icy fingers, call and set it up? Deal with customer support? Something like this rarely goes smoothly for me. I hate it, everyone else just clicks the mouse a couple times and wallah, fixed, with me it's like sorry sir you bought yours on a Tuesday after eight but before noon so the standard warranty no longer applies, would you like to purchase a new one?

Now for me to take this monumental step of even picking up the phone I need some crazy motivation. Well here it comes, my wife hosts her Bunco group in a few weeks and the boys and me will be banished to the basement for roughly, ever. We have to have Orcs to slay, or Storm Troopers to cut in half, we can not survive in the basement without the force. So I pick up the phone.

Hello my name is Homer, how can I help you? Homer? Really? You've got to be kidding. Alright Homer here's the problem, my system is dead. Can I have the serial number? Sure 'Homer' its blah blah. HMMM, this system isn't registered. No kidding Sherlock, that would have meant I called you when I got the machine, no way. Well you need to give me some information. We will see about that, what do you need? Name, address, e-mail, phone. Fine. OK thank you Mr. Shepherd now if you just go on-line you can process your repair request. Silence. That's why I called you 'Homer'. You need to log on and blah blah blah. Are you sure, isn't that what the customer support number is for? Yes it is, but now you can process your request on-line if you just blah blah blah. I GET THAT, can't you just press a button or flip a switch and make this happen? Sir you need to log on to process... Goodbye 'Homer'.

I am lucky enough to have written down the site address and miraculously find it. Now all I need to do is log in. Great, I would but have no idea what my user name or id is. I do know my password as it is the same for everything, just like you are not supposed to do. I take a stab at it and use my gamer name and, wonders of wonders, I'm in. Now I'm getting into this, it's like a quest, I'm Indiana Jones looking for the holy Xbox. Please put in your serial number, I oblige and go figure the warranty has expired. My heart stops for a second, how am I possibly going to tell my wife I need a new system. I quickly consult my brother-in-law who tells me to look for the red lights of death loophole and they will extend my warranty. I scan the page three times, nope nothing, figures, screwed again, oh wait, there it is, click. Sure enough, your warranty is extended would you like to print your pre paid shipping label? No way, it's working, I'm starting to see a glimmer of light. Yes I would like my label, then click here, OK, click, and the printer starts printing. Now with my shipping label they remind me to make sure no games are in the machine, duh, and just remove my hard drive before shipping. I KNEW IT!! Remove my hard drive, I didn't go to ITT technical institute, come on. I look over the console and start pulling and pushing, looking for somewhere to put a screwdriver, or hammer or something. One small button, I keep pressing it and nothing. Figures!! So close, yet so far away. Then I twist and the hard drive pops right off, just like I thought, perfect.

Now all I have to do is pack it in a box, drop it at a UPS, and wait 14-21 days. Bunco is in 18 days, if I don't have it back by then, Homer, I'm calling your ass.

Fred is..........DEAD!

Last weekend started a crazy week of animal encounters for the family. It began innocently enough as a friend of ours is wanting to put her house on the market and wanted a little help outside sprucing things up. Sunday was the only time I had that would work with her schedule and unfortunately didn't work with my wife's as she had a meeting scheduled for most of the afternoon. This presents a couple different scenarios: 1) I take all three boys with me and try to get them to pitch in, or 2) leave them at home by themselves and hope our house is still standing when I get back. I chose option one.

We arrived at our friends and there were some weeds to pull, some sprinkler to fix, but the big ticket item was cutting out some grass to make a new planting bed and mulch it. After nine years of watching my wife prepare to go anywhere with the kids I took the liberty of packing some snacks and bottled water to make sure of their survival, we also threw in the inhaler for good measure. When we arrive I get out a bucket and point out the weeds that are to be pulled showing them how unbelievably easy it is and making it sound like they are saving the planet. They descend on the noxious weeds like a plague. I take this time to go over what the shape of the new bed will be, get out some tools, and start chopping grass. It's at this point that my five year old loses interest in the weed pulling and comes over to 'help' me. I tell him to stand clear and when I say it is safe throw some of the chunks in the wheelbarrow. Worm!!! He spots a nice sized earthworm and decides he will keep him. This is fueled by the fact that his older brother received a leopard gecko for his birthday and this worm is close to being that cool.

He decides to name the worm Fred and to carry him around. I tune out for a little bit trying to get some work done before the other two boys give up on weed pulling. He wanders back in range and I glance up to see he is still carrying Fred but Fred has elongated to about a foot from riding shotgun all over the yard. I tell him to put Fred back in the dirt until we are ready to go, that worms don't like to be carried hoping he will follow instructions and forget about Fred. No chance. They are buddies and will stick together. Fast forward through six bags of snacks and three bottles of water and all in all they have done a pretty good job pulling 50 % of the weeds. I have long since forgotten Fred and get all the tools, kids, and snacks back in the truck to head home.

We pull into the driveway and I open the doors for them to pour out, the two big boys do and that leaves the five year old sitting by himself whimpering. What's up, what's wrong? Did your brothers put gum in your pocket again? He slowly raises his head and whimpers, Fred is.....dead, then starts to wail. I tell him we need to get Fred in the house and some water on him(Fred now looks like a leather shoe string and I know he is DOA) maybe he will be alright. This slight of hand works and gets him back to just whimpering and into the house. He goes straight out to the sand box and puts Fred down. He asks his mother if she thinks Fred is alive, mom tells him she doesn't think so and this sets him to wailing again, Fred is dead!!!!! We explain to him how much worms like dirt and that we surely can find more worms but first we need to create a 'habitat' for them and he brightens a bit. It's great having a teacher for a wife.

With Fred's death behind us, we move on to Tuesday which brings an ornate box turtle into our lives. I happen to be working on a job site south of the South Platte river and one of my co-workers spots the turtle so like an idiot I ask if I can have it to take home to the kids. I call ahead to check with my wife and she sounds excited about it so I think I'm going to be a hero, like an idiot. I drop off the turtle on my way back to the shop and everyone is ecstatic. When I get home that evening the tide has turned. My wife does a little research on the computer and finds out that we are doing irreparable damage to the turtle population because this one is a male and must be released back into the wild. What? The kids are hounding me that it is a living thing and doesn't want to be trapped in a cage, what about the gecko upstairs I'm thinking but have learned to not speak out loud. Fine I will take it back but I won't be going to that job site until Monday, this appears to appease the animal lovers for the time being.

Now it's Saturday and I actually make it to the golf course for the first time this year. When I get home I notice the five year old is in his room and I know something big went down. I say hello to my wife and try to take the temperature of the situation. She seems alright so I venture a little farther by asking what he did to be in his room. She stops typing on the computer and says oh nothing much, he and his friend from across the street let the geckos food go. If you don't know, geckos eat live crickets and we have a cricket cage just for this purpose. He let them all out? Yes there was probably twenty in the cage and he found one. That's pretty creepy. She tells me she sent the neighbor scurrying to find his shoes as she let the thunder go when she found out what happened. Poor kid, he won't be back. I ask my youngest if he tried looking for the crickets to try and repair some of the damage, he tells me I saw one but he hopped back down. Down where I don't know.

So to recap, we buried Fred this week in the sand box, have endangered the ornate box turtle population, have a starving leopard gecko, and there are twenty crickets loose in the house. I'm starting to like cats more and more.