The Bush Administration's Nefarious Plan Comes to Fruition

Dear Ex-President Bush the junior,

You win this round, W. Well played.

Oh, don't be coy. We both know this was one of the most well-orchestrated and brilliant plans ever conceived by man. I'm not one given to flights of conspiracy theory fancy, but there's just no denying the evidence this time. My only question is, how did you know? I mean, I know the US government is in control of some very sophisticated technologies, but accurately predicting the future? I had no idea!

How could you possibly have know, for SURE, that Libby would be going away this week, the week following the NEW ending date for Daylight Saving Time that your administration implemented in 2007? I mean, what if she'd waited until next semester? What if we still only had one kid? How could you account for all of those variables to pull off such a dazzling win?

I know, I know. There's no point in asking. You're nothing if not evasive and secretive about such things. And I can settle for the solace of knowing that I'm important enough in the eyes of my government that steps were taken, two years in advance, simply to rob me of sleep during this one week of the year. It gives me a warm feeling, really. If only I had enough sleep this week, I could have carried out my diabolical plan to . . . well, its best if I don't share that information since another opportunity might still present itself.

If only a negative manifestation of the change in bed times hadn't happened with BOTH kids in the same night. Button needing three feedings instead of her normal two these last two nights has been inconvenient, but Gabe sleeping until past 6:00 the night before last made the first night tolerable. Making sure Gabe woke up at 4:00 this morning, though, that was a stroke of genius on your part.

Nobody ever gave you enough credit for your intelligence. A "C" average at an ivy league school is pretty good, really! I might not have been able to pull that off (naw, I'm just being polite, I'm pretty sure I could have done at least that well, especially if my family was important enough for my teachers to view giving me good grades as essential to their continued, problem-free employment).

But how did you do it (not your GPA, I'm pretty sure I know exactly how you did that, I'm back on the topic of my two year old)? Did you use some sort of low level sonic device that disrupted his sleep and then left him too restless to even consider going back to sleep again? Or was it telepathy? Can we harness the power of the mind now? How exciting! I just wish you'd chosen to test it on someone else's kid.

Well, however you do it, I'd really appreciate it if you knocked it off tonight. Four hours of sleep spread over a seven hour period simply isn't going to cut it. In exchange for your discontinued meddling, I promise that I won't do anything large scale for, let's say, another year. I'll just keep dinking around with the lives in the Wichita metropolitan area. Deal? Great! I can't wait to see what you came up with to deal with me a year from now!

Regards,

Patrick Albers

Update on Libby and the Button Firsts She's Missed While Away

I'm sure nobody is checking this blog to find out how Libby's day went, but I'll post it anyway. She called about 6:00 and said that everything went fine. She passed, after about three hours of head-aching academia. Hurray! So, that's out of the way. She's not a "master" yet because she's still got a class to finish this semester and then another, final class, in the spring, but this was the most stressful element that needed to be completed. And now it's done.

Unfortunately, while she's been gone, there has been a flurry of developments with the smallest one. Moments that, sadly, Libby will never be able to get back because she was gone educating herself.

The first happened late this afternoon. Gabe asked if he could take the car out to Sonic to meet some friends (oh, yeah, Gabe can drive now, too--they grow up so fast), so it was just Button and I here at the house. She was lying on her little fleece blanket on the living room floor and I was watching my "stories" (about one hundred hours of language education programming that I recorded off the university channel some time back--I'm presently working my way through Esperanto). Then, quite unexpectedly, she rolled over onto her stomach, propped herself up, then stood, all on her own! While I sat, gawping in open shock, she proceeded to take her first steps over to my chair! It was truly the most remarkable thing I've ever seen.

Then, about an hour later (Gabe was up in his room with some sleazy little something something that he picked up at Sonic, and lord only knows what they were doing up there--probably playing with his puzzles! The shame), I had Button in her little activity saucer. I had moved on to my OTHER stories (interpretive dance routines that I had recorded off the Arts channel before they canceled it forever a few years back--and the world has never been the same for me since), and finally, after a few minutes, Button gave up on subtly trying to pry my attention away from my show and opted to peg me in the head with a half frozen teething toy. I looked down on her and she had that stern look on her face that will, someday, burrow into the very souls of her own children, and she spoke her first words!

She said, "Daddy, I want you to know that I love YOU best because you wouldn't leave us for a week to pursue higher education."

To which I replied, "You will never have to worry about me being gone for something like THAT. Education is for losers. But, you should know, if I ever had the opportunity to go somewhere else for an entire week, I'd jump at the opportunity to leave the house. Nothing personal."

She considered this gravely for a few moments, but then her face lit up as she came to a conclusion. "I can't blame you, father of mine. Kids can be a handful. All we ever do is take, take, take. I know that some day we'll be able to return the favor because you plan to use up your body in such a way that the last decade or so of your life will require someone to keep constant watch over you, but that's such a dreadfully long ways away. In the here and now, you are saying that you would enjoy a week of peace and relative quiet. I can respect that."

"Thanks, Butts," I said. "You're aces."

"It's only because of your caring, patient tutelage, dearest daddy. Without you, all would be for nought."

She went on from there with a five minute soliloquy about how wonderful I was. To be honest, it got a bit trite at times--lots of references to "light" and "summer" and "hope" and whatnot. But, then, she's only five months old, so I can cut her a little slack. She hasn't been around enough to know what is and isn't a cliche. I was pretty impressed at how well-rehearsed it sounded, though. I guess she's been putting her time alone in her crib to good use. Good for her!

Now if I could just figure out a way to get Gabe's trampy play date to leave.

Day One (and a Half)

Libby has been gone for just under 36 hours now. I REALLY wanted to take some progression pictures--with one the morning she left then one for each day to illustrate how I'm feeling--but I opted not to. I mean, what about me would really look THAT different? I might get some slightly darker bags under my eyes, or they might be a little bloodshot, but that's about it. That's the problem with being well on my way to bald, I can't let my increasingly disheveled hair tell the story for me. Oh well.

And, actually, the picture of me for today wouldn't be very remarkable. So far, things have been going disinterestingly fine. Button woke up three times during the night, and I didn't get MUCH sleep, but since I went to bed at 8:30 last night, I managed to get just enough to keep me from going stupid(er). Very boring.

Gabe hasn't even had any major meltdowns yet. He keeps asking for "Mama" from time to time, or saying, "Hurray! Mama's home!" (which is what he says most nights when she gets home from work) every time he hears a car outside. Then, when I explain to him that, in fact, Mama ISN'T home, and won't be for another two days, he furrows his brow at me as if to say, "Idiot," then walks over to the dining room window, opens the shade, points out the window and says, "Mama's car" (the Echo). Then I remind him that Mama took the van and the car has been out there all along. He gives me a mildly annoyed look and then we go about our business.

It might be possible that he'll deal with this week in an admirable fashion. I certainly wouldn't mind if things played out that way (though this blog will get even more boring more quickly than usual). I think the major meltdown will happen if he wakes up in the middle of the night and Libby isn't there to pull him out of bed to "snuzzle" for awhile. I tend to be more of the "Go back to sleep, goddammit!" attitude. So, then things might get a little messy. We'll just have to wait and see.

As for Libby, she called me about two hours ago as she was prepping to go in to give her presentation (which was supposed to happen at 3:00--it's almost 3:00 now, but her phone has been off for awhile now, so I'm wondering if she got in a little early. I'm sure she'll do fine. And, hopefully, when it's done, she'll BE fine, too.

On an unrelated note, I fully expect Gabe to have Type II diabetes by the end of the week. Or I will. Honestly, who invented the concept of trick-or-treating? It's all I can do to ration his candy intake to a piece every hour or two. And the only other alternative is for ME to eat it, and that's not a very good idea either. All day I have to listen to the whining, begging, "Treat, please!" over and over again. At least he's saying please, I suppose.

Halloween and Libby's Departure

As most of you are I'm sure aware, yesterday was Halloween. To celebrate, we spent the day in Cunningham with my folks and a number of the locals joining in the city's day-long celebration.

Now, don't take this personally. I'm sure your kids are great. EVERYONE'S kids are great. But there's something I've been thinking a lot about lately. I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I don't think your kids and I should see each other anymore. Maybe it's time that your kids started being around other adults. No, no. It's not their fault. It's MY fault. They deserve better than me. So I think it's best that we just keep our distance from here on out. We can still be friends, sure, but let's be friends from far away.

Break ups are always so messy.

It's no secret that I'm not a "people person." I like the idea of people. And I like studying people. I have a pretty good, innate grasp on how the human brain works, and I've always had a curiosity about how human nature plays out in everyday life. But I've never been much for hanging around with people that I don't know and who don't know me. I'm one of nature's voyeurs, I guess. There's all that pretense and awkwardness and carefully considering what's been said and what's going to be said when personal interaction occurs with casual acquaintances. Yes, yes, I know. There doesn't NEED to be all that stuff, but that's the way my brain works, so social interactions are rarely a natural, fluid thing for me, and, frankly, I don't need the extra hassle right now.

But for all the not being a people person there is going on in my life, I think there's even more of me not being an "other people's kids person." I also like the idea of kids, maybe even more than I like the idea of adults. I think kids are adorable. They say and do funny things. They're cute. But they're just so . . . there, EVERYWHERE, and all at the same time. They get in my personal space and they expect me to interact with them. I appreciate your interest. Really. But no thanks. Go wipe your boogers on someone else.

Now, before anyone progresses into full-on chastisement mode, I'm fully willing to admit that my attitudes towards other people are unhealthy, unproductive, and really not something that I want to pass on to my children. Don't get me wrong. I would love to see them both develop into self-aware, introverted people. The world needs more introverts. Sure, the extroverts might be the ones to get things done, but, for the most part, they get things done wrong. It's always do, do, do with them and never think, think, think--and while action has it's place, without the benefit of reflection and planning, that action usually takes on a circular motion, which is just as unhelpful, possibly MORE, than doing nothing at all.

So it it is with the understanding that I want my children to grow up thoughtful, but interested in being around other people, that I willfully participate in activities like yesterday's events.

And the day went fine. Exhausting, as I hovered around Gabe to make sure he wasn't beating up anyone else's kids (or trying to tell everyone on the playground equipment to "go away" or "stop"--as he did because he felt sure that the equipment should belong to him and him alone) or pestering some unsuspecting adult, but fine.

The Costume Parade. We were under the impression that this was going to be some sort of actual parade--that, perhaps, the kids would march up main street for a block or two while people lined the road to watch. Instead, they marched around the community center then, for some reason, went out the door, walked to a nearby "park" (a gazebo in an empty lot), and then returned to the community center. Nobody but the kids and a few adults taking pictures were outside, though.

Besides the parade, there were a half dozen or so other activities. There was a chili cookoff, a fair number of activities set up for the kids at the big park, a dog show (for some strange reason--not costumed dogs, mind you, just dogs), bingo, and a cake walk. We missed out on a fair chunk of the afternoon activities because Gabe melted down and needed a nap, but it was otherwise pretty OK. He had fun, at least.

As you've no doubt guessed from the video, Gabe went as a cowboy. After we got home from Cunningham--right about 6:00--we called the McHugheses and decided to walk around the neighborhood for a little trick-or-treating.

Cowboy Gabe. Sadly, the best picture that we got of his costume also includes his finger up his nose. But what can you do? That's Finn racing off camera to the side there. He's a dinosaur.

Trick-or-treating was about as much fun as I expected. We walked about six blocks and managed to find four houses with their lights on. Apparently, people don't do much with trick-or-treating anymore. Two of the houses were pretty creepy--and not because that was how they were decorated. I expect it will be a bit more fun when the kids are old enough to do most of it on their own. Since Gabe got tired of walking after about four blocks, I ended up carrying him, and, of course, he couldn't comprehend the concept of "one piece of candy per kid" and kept digging his hands into the candy bowls and trying to hastily shove as much food as possible into his pumpkin.

To me, trick-or-treating always feels like aggressive pan-handling for sweets. But maybe that's just me.


Then, this morning, Libby left for Taintlick, Texas, to defend her thesis tomorrow afternoon. She will be gone until Wednesday evening. Then she leaves again Thursday morning for a business trip and won't be home until Saturday night. It should prove to be a most interesting week. I'm curious how it will all play out.

She took Gabe aside a few times this morning and tried to explain to him that she was going to be gone for a few days. Not surprisingly, he paid no attention. I really don't expect there to be any troubles today. It is, after all, just like a normal day of work. And going to bed tonight won't be an issue either. Plenty of times Libby has had to work late and Gabe has gone to bed without seeing her.

Overnight tonight and tomorrow morning is when I expect the fireworks to begin. Libby has been gone overnight a few times, but I don't think Gabe actually remembers what it's like. And any time she's been gone for more than one night, we've taken Gabe out to my folks' house so the distraction of being and Nana and Poppa's has offset the tragedy of Mama not being around. As I said, interesting.

Fun with Nature's Trash, Fat Faces, and The Albers Join the (Early) 21st Century Technologically

Over the past week, thanks to some pretty cold nights and about a week of 20-40 mph winds, our trees have puked forth most of their leaves. Not surprisingly, Gabe loves playing with them and in them. Several times, Libby has taken him out to rake paths and mazes through the leaves that he could walk through, then Wednesday, Finn came over and he and Gabe took some time to play in the leaves.

Finn and Gabe burying themselves.

Button, not being buried, but strangely enjoying the itchy nature she's been placed on top of.

The relationship these two are developing is actually starting to show some hints to what it will be like when they are older (provided, of course, they can still stand to be around each other by then). Gabe is pretty obviously the instigator, and Finn is a pretty dedicated follower. Frequently, Gabe will do something (usually none-too-bright, like tipping the little push-car he's riding over backwards while he's sitting in the seat), then, seeing the "fun" Gabe is having, Finn will repeat the move. Here, Finn is following Gabe in diving into the leaf pile--possibly an unwise move considering my proclivity for covering up fire hydrants and bale hooks with leaves, just for fun.

In other news, Libby took a picture of Gabe, Button, and I lying on the floor the other night. When she took it, I considered making it my new profile picture for this blog, just because I haven't really updated it recently. Then I looked at the picture and changed my mind.


There's no denying that it's a cute picture of the kids, both lying there with their plugs in their mouths. I, on the other hand, appear to have been building up my winter fat stores in my head. So this picture isn't going to pass muster, I'm afraid. My head is weird like that. I'm not sure if it's a time of the year thing, a diet thing, or a my head thing, but sometimes my head gets disproportionately fat compared to the rest of my body (which, I can't deny, doesn't look to svelte in this picture either--I blame my being fat). Probably it's a medical condition of some sort, or a symptom of one. Maybe from having a "brain cloud" (yeah, that's right, I made a "Joe vs. the Volcano" reference). Who knows.


In other, other news, our family has joined the early 21st Century of technological advances! Yesterday, Libby bought a GPS system so she could use it to help her find her way to Butthole, Texas or wherever it is that Sean Astin University (the school where she's getting her Master's degree) is.

Of course, she didn't clear it with me before she purchased it because she knew my response would be, "But you are the 'master of the map' and can find your way ANYWHERE. What do you need a GPS system for? And, besides, they're too expensive." Really, though, something along this line is my response to the purchasing of just about ANY new technology. For almost a decade now, I have purposefully let myself fall behind in technological trends--it's just too much of a money sink AND requires constant vigilance to keep up on the new trends and options that are available. We owned a cell phone way before they started to become cool (a first generation "flip phone"--the one where the little cover flipped over the mouthpiece, but the entire thing was still roughly the size of half brick), and we maintained regular cell phone service--and made the appropriate upgrades every couple years--right up to the point where they started putting cameras on the phones. Then, I put the brakes on. "Why do we need a camera in our cell phone? We HAVE a perfectly serviceable camera, and it doesn't take shitty, grainy pictures, to boot."

From there it's been a slippery downhill slide for us technologically. I still own a cell phone, technically, but it's almost five years old and is a Virgin prepaid (which means the phone was actually about four years old when I got it--so, in all likelihood, the phone actually predates the point where I stopped caring about cell phone technology). I have no interest in owning a blackberry, iphone, or any other internet-capable device. Admittedly, I don't NEED anything like that--and I BARELY need a cell phone at all--because I have near constant access to the internet at home. And god knows I hardly ever get to leave the house.

Anyway, for quite some time, I've classified all technology of the non-housebound variety as "a waste of money," and GPS is just another one of them. Had it not been for her rather extensive travel schedule over the next week, we STILL wouldn't have much cause for a GPS device. I mean, it's not like we're exploring parts unknown on a regular basis. But, for the sake of this trip, I do have to grudgingly admit that it will be a handy tool to get Libby where she needs to go. Grudgingly.

All the same, I guarantee, after this trip, the GPS will end up in our Worthless Technology Drawer with the scores of other pointless gadgetry we've collected over the years but not thrown out because we felt too guilty after wasting all the money we had. Such is life, I suppose.

The Best Dirty Joke Ever

So, I told someone I would post a funny dirty joke on here because I didn't have enough space to post it in their Facebook wall. So, if you don't like to laugh, you might want to skip this post.

Originally, I read this joke (and, really, I think it has to be read--I've tried to tell it a few times and it just doesn't seem to have the same punch as it did the first time I read it) in one of Kurt Vonnegut's autobiographies. I can't remember which one, unfortunately. If I did, I would have scanned through it to copy it verbatim, because I know he did a better job of telling it than I will. Anyway, here goes:

Deep in the heart of World War II, during some of the darkest days of carpet bombings and strict rationing, Winston Churchill struck upon an idea to help boost morale in England. He solicited the assistance of the BBC and, during one of his weekly broadcasts, announced an official, nation-wide search for the funniest, dirtiest limerick anyone could think of.

The first prize winner would receive a year's worth of sugar rations, a crate of chocolate bars, and their winning limerick would be read on the air, live, by Churchill himself one month from that day. This being a time of extraordinary hardship, he figured nobody would object to the idea of having a dirty limerick read on the radio--and, in fact, he was correct.

There was a huge outpouring of support for the upcoming broadcast. Tens of thousands of people submitted limericks ranging from the traditional Nantucket variety to some really creative, choice, and above all raunchy originals. The nation was abuzz with talk of the contest and everyone's creative juices were flowing. Large "listening parties" were planned and communities were setting up festivities to lead up to the reading of the limerick.

The winner of the event had been released the night before the radio address. An elderly housewife from Brentford had won the contest, but she had been sequestered to keep her from leaking the winning limerick to anyone she hadn't already shared it with. This, obviously, only added to the buzz and anticipation.

Finally, the day came and Churchill's radio address began.

In a somber tone that seemed entirely inappropriate for the occasion, Churchill began his address. "I'm afraid," he began, "that I have some bad news." Instantly, all across the nation, hearts sank. Something truly terrible must have happened to preempt something generally regarded as an important event.

But the gravity of Churchill's voice had nothing to do with any national emergency that was non-limerick related. "I'm afraid," he continued, "that the winning limerick is simply too lewd, too explicit, and too offensive to be read on the air. The language and imagery is simply too unacceptable, even though we have all mentally prepared for this moment for a month now. This must tell you something about the limerick's content."

He couldn't hear it from where he was, of course, but Churchill could FEEL the boos of the communal citizenry of England at this point. But he trudged on, nonetheless, "After much debate, however, we have decided that it would be possible for us to read the parts that are socially acceptable and replace all of the truly offensive bits with 'da's' and 'dum's'. We will leave it to your imaginations to fill in the blanks. And here it is:

Da dum da da dum da da dum
Da dum da da dum da da dum
Da dum da da dum
Da dum da da dum
Da dum da da dum fucking cunt."

Ha!

Bit of a lead in for those last two words, but I've always felt it was worth the wait.

Oh Daddy, Focus.

As if Gabe was reading my blogs last week about my brother Ben's youthful speech impediment (Fucker Go!), he acquired a fuck impediment of his own this evening.

It all started, shortly after Libby was telling me the story of a co-student of hers who will be defending her thesis at the same time Libby is (Libby will be gone pretty much ALL of the first week of November--I'm thinking about doing a daily blog so that I can document my not-so-gradual descent into madness, but since I'm also figuring I won't get more than three hours of sleep on any given night, I might not have the energy). While telling this rather colorfully explicit story, Libby dropped a few eff bombs. Oh, and I forgot to mention that she was coloring with Gabe on the floor at the time.

As Libby finished her story and got up to get something from another room, Gabe said, "Ferk it!" Then he further elaborated, " Ferk it! Ferk it! Ferk it!" and he started coloring on his coloring book like he had something against it.

This isn't the story, though, this is just the warm up. As when he learned how to say "bitch" and "jerkass," I don't think "ferk it" will stick around too long, but I'll be sure to try and get it on video the next time if I can.

The story happened a few minutes later. While I was doing some laundry, Libby tried to coax Gabe into putting his colors and coloring books away. He kept purposefully not paying attention to her. "Focus, please, Gabe!" she said. To which he repeated, "Fuck ass, please."

He said it a number of times. As he was pushing his cars around on the dining room floor a few minutes later, from in the laundry room I could hear "Fuck ass, fuck ass, fuck ass." It made me laugh myself.

Sadly (or perhaps fortunately, depending on how much you like to laugh at the things your kid says vs. how well you hope they can blend into society when they get to school), the more he said it, the more it started to transform into something more like "ferkus." We tried to get it on video, but it was moving slightly more towards the "ferkus" version by the time we did. Oh well.

The "Oh Daddy," thing he was doing is new. I'm not sure where he picked it up. I'm sure it was something Libby said in exasperation when I'd done something or other. He never gets this out of sorts about me turning off the TV during the day. I think he does a lot of the stuff he does in the evening just to show off for Libby.