The premise behind this story has changed a bit over the last few hours. I've gone from talking about pregnant people to horrible tattoos. So now I am am just going to tell you what we saw at the Zoo yesterday in the form of people.
A couple weeks ago we had an amazing Sunday in St. Louis. 60-80 degree temp range, a bit of a breeze. Beautiful. As the weather lent itself for outdoor activities we packed up the family truckster and went to the St. Louis Zoo. Not to sound like a complete homer but if you are ever in St. Louis, visit the Zoo. Its open year round and its free. Its also one of the cleanest free attractions you will find anywhere.
As the day is going on and the noxious gases from the elephants, camels, & penguins are getting worse as the temperatures soar, my wife and I look at each other and almost in sync say "have you noticed a lot of pregnant people here?" It was crazy. Every time we turned around there was another pregnant lady walking around. Then as the day progressed at lunch and the other stops we made, there were pregnant women all over the place. I set the over/under on pregnant women at 50 yesterday. So, this sparks the question "Are we just noticing because we are pregnant or is there an influx of pregnant women in my town?" If there's anyone that could give me some math around this I would appreciate it. As we kept seeing these women we came to the conclusion that due to the harsh winter we had, there is an influx in baby making in our area, but maybe we are just crazy.
Observation number two which isn't a new observation to us at the Zoo is the amount of people with terribly-placed, low-quality tattoos and no shame in showing them off. Here's where I wish I would have been a little more trigger happy with the camera. I could go to the Zoo any day of the year over 65 degrees and come home with at least 100 different pictures of these things. So before we get shunned by our tattoo'd following, I do want to make it clear that I don't have a tattoo nor do I believe myself an elitist because of this. It really is something I just haven't given much thought into getting. I was poor in college and would have rather drank my extra money, and now kids are expensive enough that I can't rationalize spending more money to get Busch Stadium tattooed on my back. So why here of all places do the tattoos come out in full force? I could see if there was a convention in town or something but I didn't see any buses outside. I would also like some theories on this one too.
Kind of a lame post but I need people more creative/smart than I am to rationalize why these two phenomenas are occurring. I do know the answer isn't for me to get a fetus tattooed on my neck.
-S
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Parenting at its best
Having four kids, people ask me all the time if I'm crazy. That answer is yes. Next they usually ask me what I like most about having kids. My answer is how different they all are. Finally they ask if this whole question gimmick is even true or if I'm just using it as a vehicle to get this post rolling. That's about the time I change the subject.
I do, however, really enjoy how different all of my kids are (before we go any further, please recognize that I find my kids more beautiful, terrible, engaging, frustrating, and interesting than yours. Sorry. Just how it goes. I'm sure you feel the same way about your kids. If you don't, that just sort of makes my point.). It doesn't make any damned sense. They have (largely) the same genetic makeup, they live in the same house, they have the same rules, they have the same influences -- they should be pretty much carbon-copies of each other. But they aren't.
My 10 year old is my stepson, but he has been for years and he's always been as much mine as any of my other ones. He's athletic, driven, smart, polite, and generally the sort of kid every parent wishes their kid was (naturally, with him, it's all nurture). On the weird side, he won't eat chocolate and he prefers his green beans canned to frozen (I know, right?).The only reason he won't be the next Steve Nash is because he isn't Canadian (the fact that he is probably gonna end up being 5'6" doesn't help either). This kid could seriously end up an astronaut, though.
My 4 year old boy is hell on wheels. He's smart as a whip, which would be great if he could use his powers for good instead of evil. His teachers love him, so it really breaks their hearts when they have to put him in time out. He is also absolutely hilarious, and when he tells you he loves you, you know he means it. His best case scenario is probably Lex Luthor. Worst case? Sort of a less effective Lex Luthor.
My 3 year old is super, super sweet. He'll crawl up into your lap, tell you his name is "Baby Puppy Oswald" and just sit there with the sweetest little voice ever and alternate between making baby noises and puppy noises. Like a puppy, he sometimes has rage and odor issues. And he is occasionally in a dress when I pick him up from daycare. Not that there is anything wrong with that.
Finally, I have an 18 month old daughter who absolutely changed my life. She looks like her 4 year old brother (just like me, which I am loathe to admit) but in a pretty way. She lights up a room, which is good, because if she is in the room, you'll know it. You'll also know if you are doing something she doesn't like, or, more often, preventing her from doing something she likes.
So, those are my kids in a nutshell. They, like ogres, have nuances and layers and all manner of things that make them amazing and flummoxing, and I love them each to death in their own special way. And I am giving them all our highest praise, a Little Bit of Italy rating. Way to go, guys (and girl).
I do, however, really enjoy how different all of my kids are (before we go any further, please recognize that I find my kids more beautiful, terrible, engaging, frustrating, and interesting than yours. Sorry. Just how it goes. I'm sure you feel the same way about your kids. If you don't, that just sort of makes my point.). It doesn't make any damned sense. They have (largely) the same genetic makeup, they live in the same house, they have the same rules, they have the same influences -- they should be pretty much carbon-copies of each other. But they aren't.
My 10 year old is my stepson, but he has been for years and he's always been as much mine as any of my other ones. He's athletic, driven, smart, polite, and generally the sort of kid every parent wishes their kid was (naturally, with him, it's all nurture). On the weird side, he won't eat chocolate and he prefers his green beans canned to frozen (I know, right?).The only reason he won't be the next Steve Nash is because he isn't Canadian (the fact that he is probably gonna end up being 5'6" doesn't help either). This kid could seriously end up an astronaut, though.
My 4 year old boy is hell on wheels. He's smart as a whip, which would be great if he could use his powers for good instead of evil. His teachers love him, so it really breaks their hearts when they have to put him in time out. He is also absolutely hilarious, and when he tells you he loves you, you know he means it. His best case scenario is probably Lex Luthor. Worst case? Sort of a less effective Lex Luthor.
My 3 year old is super, super sweet. He'll crawl up into your lap, tell you his name is "Baby Puppy Oswald" and just sit there with the sweetest little voice ever and alternate between making baby noises and puppy noises. Like a puppy, he sometimes has rage and odor issues. And he is occasionally in a dress when I pick him up from daycare. Not that there is anything wrong with that.
Finally, I have an 18 month old daughter who absolutely changed my life. She looks like her 4 year old brother (just like me, which I am loathe to admit) but in a pretty way. She lights up a room, which is good, because if she is in the room, you'll know it. You'll also know if you are doing something she doesn't like, or, more often, preventing her from doing something she likes.
So, those are my kids in a nutshell. They, like ogres, have nuances and layers and all manner of things that make them amazing and flummoxing, and I love them each to death in their own special way. And I am giving them all our highest praise, a Little Bit of Italy rating. Way to go, guys (and girl).
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
If this were a buddy cop movie, I'd be too old for this crap
When I was in high school, I was an avid soccer player. In this context, by "avid" I mean that I played a lot, not that I was good. I was blessed to go to a school small enough they couldn't cut people, and by the time I was a senior I was a starter, a captain, and All-Ohio (Academic, anyway).
Anyway, since then, I've largely stopped running (and moving when possible) so I'm a little out of shape. About 2 years ago I answered an online ad for an indoor soccer team needing a goalie. I didn't play goalie (or "keeper" as some "football" snobs call the position) for my high school team but had played a few games in the net for a club team I was on, so I thought it would be a great way to get back into it slowly (as goalies obviously move less than other players).
I bought some shinguards, some cleats, and some gloves, and played for about a year. My team was great, in all fairness, considering some of them were really, REALLY good at soccer. It would have been very easy to get frustrated with me (as I'm barely, BARELY adequate). I had a great time, but didn't get into great shape. After about 6 months I told them to look for another goalie, as I just couldn't commit to the hour every week (I am, after all, a bid-ness man first and foremost). Shortly thereafter they found one, and I enjoyed some much needed time off.
A few weeks ago the team reached back out to me. Apparently after I left they hopped up a division (not surprising since they had a real goalie) and then their new goalie got hurt so they dropped back down a division. As all of them are in average shape, they're perfectly content running all over the field and NOT having people kick things at their heads as hard as possible. Suckers. Anyway, I missed the game (which is a huge contributor to success) so I jumped at the opportunity generated by the injury of my replacement.
Since coming back we've had three games, and we've won all three. It took me a little while to remember the rules, and to get my sea legs back, but this week I was pretty awesome for a thirty-something fat guy playing out of position with a bunch of youngsters who started out better than I am. So I'm having fun.
I'm also painfully, painfully sore. Both wrists are messed up and the first three steps after any period of sitting are sort of half-leaning forward. But I made some great saves, some great drop kicks, and nobody has cussed me out since I came back.
If this is what winning feels like, call me Charlie Sheen.
Anyway, since then, I've largely stopped running (and moving when possible) so I'm a little out of shape. About 2 years ago I answered an online ad for an indoor soccer team needing a goalie. I didn't play goalie (or "keeper" as some "football" snobs call the position) for my high school team but had played a few games in the net for a club team I was on, so I thought it would be a great way to get back into it slowly (as goalies obviously move less than other players).
I bought some shinguards, some cleats, and some gloves, and played for about a year. My team was great, in all fairness, considering some of them were really, REALLY good at soccer. It would have been very easy to get frustrated with me (as I'm barely, BARELY adequate). I had a great time, but didn't get into great shape. After about 6 months I told them to look for another goalie, as I just couldn't commit to the hour every week (I am, after all, a bid-ness man first and foremost). Shortly thereafter they found one, and I enjoyed some much needed time off.
A few weeks ago the team reached back out to me. Apparently after I left they hopped up a division (not surprising since they had a real goalie) and then their new goalie got hurt so they dropped back down a division. As all of them are in average shape, they're perfectly content running all over the field and NOT having people kick things at their heads as hard as possible. Suckers. Anyway, I missed the game (which is a huge contributor to success) so I jumped at the opportunity generated by the injury of my replacement.
Since coming back we've had three games, and we've won all three. It took me a little while to remember the rules, and to get my sea legs back, but this week I was pretty awesome for a thirty-something fat guy playing out of position with a bunch of youngsters who started out better than I am. So I'm having fun.
I'm also painfully, painfully sore. Both wrists are messed up and the first three steps after any period of sitting are sort of half-leaning forward. But I made some great saves, some great drop kicks, and nobody has cussed me out since I came back.
If this is what winning feels like, call me Charlie Sheen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)