Little m Long a

She walked quickly and looked behind to her left.  He followed, silently, just behind.  Quickly, she changed course, switched hands and looked behind to her right.  And just as quickly he was there, right behind her.  I could feel the tension mounting, see it in her face.  Frustration building.

“Zia, what seems to be the problem?” I asked.

“Zander keeps following me!  He won’t stop,” she exclaimed.

I looked down at Zander who was intent on Zia and focused squarely on her hands.  Zia shifted hands and turned left to right and back again as Zander followed her every move.

“Zia, he’s not following you,” I said pointing to the object in her hands.  “He’s following the sucker!”

“Oh.”  Then to Zander, “Do you want a sucker, Zander?”

“Yeah, yeah!  I want a sucker.”

“Well, you can’t have it.”  And she popped it in her mouth and walked away.

My computer hates me.  Really, I’m not lying about this.  The damn thing hates me and what’s worse, it’s recruiting other haters.  He’s got my laptop turned against me too.  Let’s just assume for argument’s sake the computer is a he, alright.  It could be a she for all I know.  The point is, the computer has decided to turn against me.

I’ve been trying for 4 days now to log into my EPSN.com account to manage my fantasy team.  Fantasy being the operative word there because any chance I may have of winning with these morons has got to be a fantasy!  I decided to change things up a bit, drop some losers and replace them with guys who were less losers than the losers I am currently losing with.

Trying I say, because I can’t seem to sign in to ESPN.com to make any changes.  I can navigate through the entire web page but can’t get the sign in page to load.  I can’t get the member services page to load.   I’ve tried our pc and my laptop.  No Luck.  Ever hear the phrase “my hands are tied”?  Well, that’s me!

Up until this morning I could at least move players from the bench to the starting line-up.  This morning, I say because that option is no longer available to me.  All I can do is sit and stare at my lame ass team.  I can’t do a damn thing–much like my team has done these past two weeks.

I called the help line this morning and a nice guy named Chuck… (I just made that up, I can’t remember his name.  I was so happy to have actually reached someone I could have cared less what his name was.)  Well, Chuck logs into my account without a problem.  He asks what player I wanted to add so I just give him a name off the top of my head–Pittman.  “So who do you want to drop?” he asks.

“Uhm, (I wasn’t expecting this kind of help.  I wasn’t ready.) Uhm–Ginn.  Yeah, drop Ginn.”

And so he did.  And now I have some guy named Pittman that I know nothing about–I don’t even know who he plays for–and I dropped a potentially decent albeit nonproductive thus far receiver.

Chuck could do it from some cubicle in God only knows where but I couldn’t.  He suggested I check my firewall or some such nonsense.   I did.  Many times.  I can’t log in.  I can’t even get to the login page.  What is up with that?

I think this is God’s way of telling me that I suck as a fantasy footballer and should spend my time doing things more productive like laundry or yelling at kids.  Now that I can do!  I’m not done yet, though.  I’ve got a plan but I’m going to need some duct tape, Elmer’s, needle nose pliers, and a cup of flour, oh and a borrowed computer or laptop before the weekend.  (You’ve been warned, Ann.)

It’s only the third week of the season and if I can’t get my login issues resolved I can officially concede the season.  Unless of course, this Pittman guy turns out to be a monster and rallies the rest of my lame group of losers to start playing above their heads.  I just hope his back is strong because he’s going to have a load to carry.

The following was written during the power outage resulting from Hurricane Ike having made it’s way through our fair state this past Sunday the 14th.  I was working on the laptop, sitting silently in the candlelit living room.  I received warning that I had less than 10% battery power remaining and decided to write whatever came to my mind before the computer shut itself down.  I found out the following–when your computer tells you that you have less than 10% battery power remaining, find a plug.  It’s not a lot of time!

The winds have stopped for now and I am overwhelmed by the silence.  A single candle flickers and I work by it’s light deafened by the sounds of nothingness.

Listen harder…

Outside, the crickets.  Active.  Choral.  Ticking, rhythmic and constant.  My watch.  Rusty calls into the night.  There’s no answer, yet he continues his barking.

Listen harder…

A voice or just a thought.  Familiar, I’ve been here before.  I know you, or did.  We were close.

Whatever happened.

OK, I might need some help with this one.  Help me to realize I’m not going crazy.  You see, most of the things I find myself saying day in and day out no longer phase me.  Few things surprise me.  Little catchphrases have become part of the accepted parental vernacular .  We all have them, please tell me we all have them.  Things we say to our kids regularly.  Things that ten years ago I would never have imagined saying but now roll off of my tongue with ease like a seasoned baptist minister sermonizing in a traveling tent revival.

Don’t touch the outlet.  Stop running in the house.  Pick up your dirty clothes.  Eat your carrots.  Stop hitting your sister.  Could you bring me a package of wipes?  Did you poop?  What’s the magic word?  That’s yes—Ma’am.  Get that out of your mouth.  Don’t eat that!

Surely you’ve used these phrases or very similar.  Commonplace.  We all do it.  But every once in a while I’ll say something that is so over the top or on the surface  just plain ludicrous that it gives me pause.  Things I could have never imagined I would be saying, even as a parent.  Here’s a random sampling from the past couple of weeks.

To Zane–”Buddy, you can’t use those scissors.  Those are my sewing scissors.”

Yes, I said sewing scissors.  I have a pair of scissors that I keep with my sewing machine that are only to be used for cutting fabric.  Yes, I said my sewing machine.  I sew.  Granted, It’s nothing you want to wear in public but I did make some really nice crib sets for Zoë, Zane and Zia.  Sheet, dust ruffle, bumpers, diaper bag and with Zia, curtains.  I’ve got pictures somewhere.  Zia’s was some of my best work.  So the sewing thing–absolutely something I could never have imagined ten years ago.

And following that theme…

To Zoë–”No, no.  It’ll be fine.  I can make a nice little set of cafe curtains.  It’ll cut down on the glare.”

Much to my wife’s dismay, I rearranged the living room furniture last week.  I had lost the remote and literally tore the living room apart looking for it.  By the time it was located, deep in the recesses of the couch, it was easier to just rearrange.  The tv ended up in a spot that had a little bit of glare as seen from one chair.  I offered the cafe curtains to Zoë as a way of reassuring her things would be OK.  I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I know what a cafe curtain is or the fact that I am willing to sew them myself.

To Zane–”Do you need to pee? (He responds by shaking his head no.) Then stop grabbing your penis!”

There’s something to be said about a little boy and his love for his penis.  I guess I’m just not ready for such a public a display of affection.

To Zella–”Zella.  Drop the monkey!”

I haven’t a clue.  But you gotta admit, any time you are audibly instructing a child to unhand a simian things have gotten weird.

That’s just a few I’ve had the foresight to write down.  So let’s hear it.  What are some of the ridiculous things you have said to your kids recently?

We stayed inside for the better part of the day.  Safely inside.  The remnants of Ike made it’s way into and through Ohio yesterday with steady winds and gusts into the 50mph range.  It was something to behold.  Our experience in no way compares to those along the Texas and Louisiana coastline and even those living farther northward in those gulf coast states.

There was no water to contend with, just the steady and constant winds.  Before long, limbs began to fall.  Our yard is littered with fallen branches.  One branch fell through and into the front porch breaking a few panes of glass with it’s fall.  The driveway was covered with fallen branches.  Minimal stuff all-in-all.  But eventually, inevitably, it happened.

About 6:30 pm I was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, Zia was playing on the stairs behind me and Zane was watching a football game in the living room.  And the lights went out.  Immediately, Zia responded with, “I didn’t do that!”

Me:  I know, Zia.  It’s the power.  I’m sure a limb has fallen over a power line and the electricity has gone out.

Zia:  Oh.  (Now with a bit of worry in her voice)  But when will it come back on?  What are we going to do?

Me:  Don’t worry Zia, we’ll be fine.  It’s just a power line.  It’ll be back on soon enough.  We’ve got plenty of candles.

Zane:  (Yelling from the living room) Dad!  Dad!!

I walked into the living room and began to explain to Zane…..

Me:  Don’t worry, man.  It’s probably just a limb that fell over a power line and made the electricity go out.  We’ve got plenty of candles.  We’re going to be fine.  Really, don’t worry about it.

Zane:  Yeah, but Dad.  (His voice almost in a panic.)  How are we going to find out if the Jets win?