Late night… slept poorly… alarm goes off… grab clothes… shuffle downstairs… to fridge for Diet Coke caffeine fix… sit at computer… fire up Facebook… see friend request from dad… cold jolt of fear and adrenaline… google “end times” “revelations” “end of the world” “jumping the shark” “facebook”… return Diet Coke to fridge… make peace with my new reality… accept dad’s friend request.
Did NOT see today starting off like this.
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Posted on March 24th, 2009 by Brad, Head SOB in
Life 
As a repellent, it’s top notch — I have some of it stuck in my cuticles right now as I type. Seriously, if we slather Desitin on the hulls of our America’s Cup entries we’ll beat the friggin’ Aussies. It’s great stuff, but I think it harbors a secret.
You can’t wash it off your hands easily, but you have to reapply it after every wet diaper. So, urine causes it to break down to some extent. Know what else breaks down when it gets peed on? Jellyfish venom. Your friend gets stung, they will beg you to pee on the wound.
Ipso facto, Desitin is made from jellyfish venom. But it doesn’t show up on the label.
I think my job here is done.
Posted on March 12th, 2009 by Brad, Head SOB in
Life 
These have been kicking around for a while, and I’ve seen them from time to time. I don’t know where they came from originally, so I can’t give credit where credit is due.
As the father of two and husband of one I think they’re a riot, because I’ve done about half the don’ts shown below. Oh, the stories they’ll share in therapy in 20 years will be golden. Call up child services and I’ll deny everything.
Posted on March 2nd, 2009 by Brad, Head SOB in
Life So, Children’s wireless policy is insane. I can’t connect to social networking sites, personal sites, or sites with questionable content. So, Twitter and Facebook are out, but goddamnsonofabitch.com is A-OK. Go figure.
Anyhoo, she’s doing as good as can be expected. Her mouth had the hell sutured out of it, so she can’t swallow, move her tongue, cough, cry or breathe without any pain. Three cheers for morphine and codine. She’s in a fog, but unfortunately that’s what she needs at this point.
She’s been through the wringer today. Very strong when we got here — didn’t fuss or cry when the strangers in blue started poking and prodding her in pre-op. She rolled with it, and I was proud. Then she went off, got sliced, stretched and stitched, and she woke up with a look that I had after that lost weekend in Tijuana, and I was proud.
Then came the blood, spit and tears.
She took it all in stride. She had every right to be scared… it’s not every day you get a uvula. It’s not every day you can breathe like an average person. That you can swallow like an average person. And every breath and swallow hurt her more than I can imagine. And the funny thing is, she didn’t seem to cry because she was in pain. She seemed annoyed by it. Like she was trying to think her way through it and rationalize it. I don’t think a nine-month old has ever been introspective, but mine was.
And I’m proud. Sleep well, princess. Daddy’s here at your side. You’ve earned your rest.
