I take a leak in my car
byAt first I didn’t realize what was going on: I just, all of a sudden, felt moist in my crotch. I looked down to find I’d wet my pants. This really surprised me because I made sure I went before I left home.
At first I didn’t realize what was going on: I just, all of a sudden, felt moist in my crotch. I looked down to find I’d wet my pants. This really surprised me because I made sure I went before I left home.
Earlier this week, Master21 and his housemates arrived home to find themselves in a bit of a predicament: they’d ALL gone out without their house keys. Being university students, the intellectual cream of youth, they’d also neglected to hide a spare key somewhere in the yard.
Surely, with seven kids, we are destined to have more parenting fails than people with, say, two children. Right? What is probably less forgivable is when we repeatedly make the same mistakes over and over again.
It seems my social awkwardness no longer requires me to be physically present.
When it comes to entertaining the kids, Tracey and I have similar approaches but our methods differ ever so slightly. She likes to get them building a sheet cubby house or making things. I like to turn on the telly.
The kids up the road teach my guys about canine reproduction.
Given Miss9’s broken leg we’ve been stuck on Home Detention, but yesterday the kids get out on parole. Briefly.
I use my head to solve the mystery of where are all the toys I usually step on at bedtime.
A trip to the hospital with my daughter wasn’t like a line from Butterfly Kisses.
Jab. Poke. Stab. Prick. I hate needles. Even when they’re headed for someone else’s arms.
I remember watching my Dad on Christmas morning sitting in a big chair behind us kids, a pile of presents growing larger on the floor beside him. Whereas we’d be tearing the paper off our gifts the moment they touched our fingers, most years he wouldn’t even have opened any of his by the time all the presents were handed out.
“Don’t take that outside or you’ll lose it,” I heard Tracey warn Miss2 this morning, about thirty seconds before there was more wailing outside our back door than Japan does for ‘scientific’ research.
Seeing my oldest son, Master20, causes me pain these days.
For a law-abiding, upstanding citizen my mother sure knew how to tell a furby.
“Tracey! The baby is putting all sorts of stuff in her mouth. You know you shouldn’t trust me with this sort of thing. It’s very irresponsible of you!”