With both the schools & the daycare closed for the day due to weather, I'm sitting here truly feeling for the parents of young children who don't have the luxury of adjusting their schedule to compensate. What do you do in that scenario? Take a sick Day? That would just suck!
The snow is still falling as I look out the window. I'm glad I don't have to dig myself out from the hard packed mound of street sludge plowed up at the end of my driveway. I now have even further regrets to my insane decision late last night to hand shovel the drive in the first place... what was I thinking? I've got to quick having crack for breakfast! I got about 3/4 of the way done when the stupidity of my idea came crashing thru my thick skull. There is a snow plow attachment on the tractor which my wonderful father-in-law will be taking around sometime in the early morning hours to clear both his drive & mine. Why did his daughter marry such and idiot?
I'm letting the boys sleep in since when they do wake up their first question will be, "Is it a snow day?"
They will realize I'm lying to them if I say "no" but don't rush to get them dressed. With winter coming the boys and I have had playful banter of how we will finally use the snow brick makers that have been sitting in the garage collecting dust the past few years to finally make a fort. We have laughed at how we will gather in our fort a stack of snowballs to perform a surprize attack on their mother when she returns from work for the day, pelting her to oblivion. I must admit that in my fantasy there was even dancing around her submissive pose as she begged for mercy.
Not in any way near what our fort would end up looking like
The difference between my young boys and myself is that as an adult I can better seperate fantasy from reality. Don't believe me? Ask each of us individually about Santa Clause. See, I realize that even tho we all would enjoy getting out there and starting to construct our snow fort masterpiece, it would not be long before one of the boys was tired with that and wanting to go back inside. I would most likely follow in those footsteps seeing how I don't have snow pants or snow shoes and I would be, at some early point, cold and wet expecting to be found at some future point in a block of ice by rescue dogs.
I'm not going to even get into the mess of coming in. I will, however, point out the fact that about the time the other child wants to come in is the exact point when my first son will want to go back out.
Somewhere between dressing & undressing shivering children with wet snow gear I will be required by them to finish the fort construction and snowball stockpile myself. For the rest of the day (between meals, snacks, DVD changes, drink refills, bathroom helping & monster false alarms) they will be constantly asking me if it is about time for Mommy to get home so we can go back out in the cold to prepair for our battle, thus insuring I accoplish nothing today in the manner of real work.
All that being said, and before too many people read this and decide I deserve the "Worst Father of the Year" award, I will point out that I will do all this for them without complaint (at least not to them) because that is what you do. Who knows... I might have a bit more fun that I anticipate (especially if I nail Mommy in the kisser with a snowball).
Also, I don't want it thought that I have totally lost touch with the joys & excitement of being a child. I remember looking forward to finding out school was closed due to the snow. I used to try to dig tunnels thru the white powder & sled down the incline that lead from our back yard to an empty lot. Beyond that lot was a treeline that held many a day's adventure. I used to look forward to days when I didn't have to see the inside of my school or my teacher... maybe I would have thought differently if she looked like this:
or even this
but not this
Who am I kidding, I would have done her too
I guess what I am trying to say is that like most things in life there are aspects of it that won't be fun or possibly even flat out suck, but we have to find the fun in whatever we do and focus on the positive aspects. When we make the choice to become a parent (yes, it's a choice to become a parent. Granted, it is possible for someone to have put a gun to your head for the conception part of the process; nobody put a gun to your head when it comes to your choices beyond that point... Ok, maybe if you are Catholic) we are taking on a responsibility. That responsibility means that there are times when we miss out on what we want to do for the sake of our child's best interest. Sometimes it means we do things we never would do otherwise.
Not everyone is suited for this serious responsibility. Some people just don't want to take it on. There is nothing wrong with that and modern science has given us many options to avoid this situation. One of these option is the vasectomy.
I am done having children. I was actually done before my last one, but she tricked me! (I should have know something was up when she actually had sex with me three times within a single month, but I was too busy being happy that I had a use for an erection that didn't contribute to carpel tunnel syndrome) I had a perfect white trash record going on where each of my children was by a different woman and my latest wife had to go and have a second! (The gall of her!!!) It's not like I can go back and have another with each of the other mothers... and believe me, I wouldn't want to. Hey, I do my part in the avoidance of pregnancy. I wear tight underwear. I have been asked by numerous people why I don't get a vasectomy. Below is my perfectly logic reasoning behind my decision to not get a vasectomy.
It all started many years ago, long before the possible need for such surgery, as I was looking at a magazine (probably at a doctor's office... those sick bastards love to torture you like that. Where is the friggin Highlights for Kids, asshole!). There was an article on vasectomy surgery. I'm sure the article was intended to show what a great idea this was and how simple and easy the procedure is, but it actually had the reverse effect on me. I focused mainly on the photographs in the article (because reading is far too time consuming and difficult) that were taken during an actual vasectomy. They were basically step by step shots of a procedure being done. Those pictures were scary as shit!
Now for those of you unfamiliar with the procedure or what it entails, below is a "toned down" illustration. I didn't dare put actual photos here because I didn't want my blog to be the reason you vomited on your keyboard... ok, at least not from this post.
If you would like to view actual pictures or video of a vasectomy please visit vasectomy-information.com you sick, sick bastard.
I have a good rule here, no sharp objects "south of the border". I won't even let a girl go down on me if her teeth look too pointy. The photos I saw in that magazine (again, where's the goddamded Highlights!) had stuff getting yanked out (ok, the "yanked" part is a mental add-in based on my assumption that doctors hate me) and taped down, things getting clipped & cut, blood and implied pain. After long moments of staring in dismay at the pictures I had started to wish I was into football so I would have picked up that copy of Sports Illustrated instead. It did get me thinking about the difference between the doctor doing the incision across or up and down. I mean I figure there will probably be a scar, and you know how a striped shirt can make you look taller or fatter depending on the direction of the lines....
Seriously, that one article (ok, actually the photographs) were enough to keep me from ever getting a vasectomy. But just in case there was ever going to be a glimmer of a possibility that I would ever consider it, my best friend stepped in. A few years back he decided to get one done. He then decided that I should get one done as well. To further demonstrate his brilliance, he decided to call me the day after his procedure and in an effort to convince me it was a good idea... tell me about his experience step by step.
The first thing he tried to do was reassure me that it was simple and painless. He did this first by letting me know they gave him a "local".
Now, by definition of the term that would mean a needle of some sort in the general area (as he confirmed, nutsack). See "sharp object" rule above.
He then told me how they waited a while, then started the procedure. He did mention in passing that he had to stop them because he felt it, so they gave him a little more anesthetic and...
Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick! Hold on a moment. Let me just repeat that, "HE HAD TO STOP THEM BECAUSE HE FELT IT" Wasn't he trying to tell me how "painless" this was? What kind of sick fuck am I best friends with? there would be no more anesthetic, or procedure. My ass would be out the door by then!
He then went on to uneventfully finish his story. He did also mention that while I was on the phone with him he was laying on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on his crotch because it was sore.
Again with the pain!
I was also informed by him that he was instructed to manually discharge sperm about ten times and then come back in to get tested to make sure the procedure was effective.
I will admit here that although it is kind of nice to get a doctor's permission slip to spank the monkey, I would be so scared to touch for fear of damaging it or creating more pain... my best friend later confimed that it was a good idea to avoid getting an erection for a while (how do you do that? My kids are constantly watching Hi-5 and that one chick is hot) and he also told me that it hurt really bad the first few times he "discharged" (more pain, yipee!). Another point I must make is that if I went thru all this and then the final test results came back that the procedure was a failure (which is quite possible from my track record), I would be forced to stab the doctor in his scrotum with a sharp object.
Once again, what was intended to help reassure me and guide me down the enlightened path to vasectomyville did the exact opposite. Another of my fears were somewhat justified a couple years ago when we had a tremor (we actually do live on a fault line here in Illinois). I know if I go "under the knife" (such a pleasant term, yet honest in description) there will be a major earthquake. I don't want to have to explain how an 11.3 turned my 8.5 into a 3.4!