Rantings, mostly…

As of 6 minutes ago, 6:25PM EST, I have declared myself in a (mini) Vow of Silence!

I’m doing it as an exercise in understanding my children better, learn to better think before I speak, and to take time to do things myself and stop relying on my children as static delegates.

Of course blogging (yeah, like I do so much) is not included in “the Vow.”  Nor is writing and written school correspondence.

I’d say I’ll keep you updated — you being the whopping 2 people who subscribe to this blog and you being the 15-20 bounces I receive a day — but we all know I’m not capable of maintaining this blog on a routine basis.

I thought to myself that it must be amazing to perform improvisation on MadTV — from an actor’s perspective at least. I also thought how difficult it must be when it hit me.

The point is improvisation requires effort not necessarily training and education although I’m sure it doesn’t hurt.

Last night as a fear exercise my oldest kid snatched the “stirring stick” out of our lit and roaring fireplace to stir it a bit because it needed it and — now get this — because it was not completely on fire.

My fearful little angel had ascended into this brave creature that we saw walking among us snatching fire from the belly of the beast to wave above her head in triumph as it sent chills down my spine.

The greatest moments in my life are based on the beauty and joy my children share as a child and the developments they make toward being an adult.

The point I’m trying to make I guess is that never again will I be afraid to accomplish something and if I am I will willingly admit that I need guidance and seek it on my own.

I’m off to see what sources of drama and improvisation they have in my area.

Yeah, yeah, we’re only 2 hours into it, but I plan on lapsing into a coma momentarily, so here’s to all my Leprechaun buddies out there.

So, here’s a few tips for your Irish lads and lasses:

1.  Never show your arse to a law enforcement officer.

2.  Never bribe a law enforcement officer.

3.  Never hit a law enforcement officer.

4.  Never spit on or at a law enforcement officer.

5.  Never swing wildly on someone who bumps you in a nightclub as they may be an undercover law enforcement officer.

6.  Never throw your beer on a law enforcement officer.

7.  Never bite a law enforcement officer.

8.  Never motion with your hands like you’re firing a gun at a law enforcement officer.

9.  Never tell a law enforcement officer, “Come and get me then, you fuggin’ wanker!”  (Alternatively, don’t call them a “steam hole,” either.  Apparently they ALL know what it means.)

And last but not least, believe it or not…

10.  Never grab a law enforcement officer’s crotch and attempt to kiss them.

This list has been made possible by those wonderfully inebriated and lovable cousins and friends in my life — and who said the Irish don’t know how to have fun?

Éirinn go Brách!

So far today Ewok has said:

“I knewn it!” in response to Sissy reaffirming something Ewok apparently knew already.

“ooo cha things are gonna’ get easier” is her “Ooh Child” rendition.

“She is the goodest.”  When corrected she then said, “Oh, I mean the gooderest.”

“And I hanged my head and cried.”  Apparently a lost line in “You Are My Sunshine.”

Then Cole said:

“Is it just me or is my child the dumbest kid in the world, but also the most giftedest?”

Before all of this though, Ewok and Sissy had a LONG conversation in a made up language.  Not only a made up language, but one they were inventing on-the-fly.

And then Ewok chided Sissy in that language for a few moments and then sang to her for twice as long.

Mo-gin, Moogy, and myself just stared in wide-eyed amazement the entire time.

If anyone can read this, know that I fear for my life and you should send help as soon as possible.

Despite the recent tragic loss of my niece, and the twice now horrible experiences we have had setting off a few fireworks, happy 4th people.

Monday, we tried setting a few fireworks off.  The police were called by a local drunk asshole we all know and hate.  Although the local newspaper is what notified us that the “burn bans” had been lifted, the officer threatened to confiscate our fireworks (thank God 85% of them were located in the house and not outside with us).

Then in some strange stroke of kindness (more like he realized he was an idiot) he just offered that we quit for tonight, or find a good field or something (um… but you were warning us about the burn ban?) and was on his way.

Well, tonight, one of my neighbors in all his drunken glory decided he would take one of my fountains (I didn’t care) and light it himself.

As my wife, I, and my four daughters looked on it amazement we realized not one second into the lighting that something was amiss.

The first shot of 16 fired, *PPOOOM!*, and that was what sent the fountain skittering on its side.

The fountain continued firing off round after round, *PPOOOM!  PPOOOM!*, sending these mini-mortars flying in my children’s direction, several of my neighbor’s directions and even down to the end of our street barely missing my last neighbor on my side’s *very* nice car.

Needless to say, I said screw this shite, and took everyone inside.  Luckily no one was hurt.

But is God trying to tell us something?  You know… like… “Fuck you!”

Today is my wife and I’s three year anniversary.  However, I have a story to tell.  It will illuminate for you why this is the saddest anniversary to date.

My wife’s brother’s wife (no, this is not going to be a funny story) has had problems getting and staying pregnant for the longest time.  This was due to complications she had when she was a child.

So when she became pregnant, and did not immediately miscarry as had previously happened, everyone in the family was ecstatic.  Even myself, despite mine and my wife’s brother’s quarrel.

As of this past Friday, June 29^th, she was almost six months pregnant, the baby was breached, but nonetheless alive and well.

Sadly, something went wrong, labor quickly ensued and she had to give birth to a baby almost four months premature.

Emma Smith, so small her parents decided she didn’t even need a middle name, as her name was already longer than she was…

…not long after her arrival, Emma was dead.

So today, on my wife and I’s three year anniversary, we had to see buried, a niece, a cousin, an only child to a deserving couple.

RIP little angel.  God is calling.

See Emma Smith at our local newspaper for the details.  Condolences may be expressed either here, or at the Bennett-Bertram funeral home Web site.

UPDATE:  Due to the Bennett-Bertram Web site using Publisher (I initially thought FrontPage, or Word) to design the site, it is basically unusable in any browser other than Internet Explorer, so use Internet Explorer if possible.