“Look Dad, I have machine guns.”

I don’t think we are a very violent family. My children don’t go hunting with me. We don’t buy them movies with particularly violent themes or have them play video games where they shoot stuff often. But rocks turn into hand granades. Today I trimmed the palm trees. They stripped the leaves off of them to get to the stalk and sure enough, they were swords. The dog was the enemy. Socks are good for a battle that would cause anyone with a brain to take cover. I only have boys. I have no idea what girls do. But boys… evidently like to blow stuff up and destroy things. Anything. And if you don’t provide them something to destroy, they’ll pretend. I evidently live in a war zone.

That’s what my stupid radio in my truck is claiming to be it’s personal diagnosis.

My tape player that I use as my ipod umbilical cord so I can listen to tunes and podcasts and such as I drive now claimes it won’t work. Instead all it does is flash the following green letters at me. MECH ERR.

Somebody was smart enough to program my stupid stock radio to tell me when it is busted. If I had invented it, when it broke it would just flash: SUCK 2BEU. Then at least I’d laugh at my stupid busted radio.

Saturday was consumed by baseball. Pretty much the foreseeable future of Saturday’s are consumed by baseball. 2 games every Saturday for my 2 oldest boys plus 2 in the week makes for a lot of baseball. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but baseball is long and well- boring. So, what to do while I pass 5 to 6 hours of Saturday’s at baseball besides just cheer and wait for my kids to have a chance at bat or have the ball come their way?

Option 1: Whittle. I thought about it, but it involves a knife and I’m sure some crazy parent will think it’s only a cover so I look like I have a purpose for the knife other than stabbing the ref in anger when he calls a bad strike zone. So, no whittling.

Option 2: Text Message. Sure, I could do a lot of this. But 2 problems. #1. I look like a technology dork who can’t pay attention to his kid’s game. #2. I hate text messaging. That’s out.

Option 3: Eat. Well… I just got back from a cruise and while I love a good “dog” at the game, I’d get HUGE if I did this. Eating is definitely out.

CURRENT SOLUTION: Spits: I took up “spits” again. I think I’m gonna buy a 5 gallon bucket full and see if I can go through them in the season.

-It keeps you busy cracking them in the stands.
-It’s socially acceptable to spit them at the baseball field.
-I get to be a kid again.
-Even 5 gallons of sunflower seed shouldn’t make me super fat.
Or maybe I’m just willing to risk it.

Here’s to baseball and spitting.

Tyler and I went to old town San Diego with his first grade class. We were given a tour of old town by a lady who tried to help the class understand what life would have been like in the mid 1800’s here in San Diego. Here’s what I learned:

1. It took 6 months to sail from New York to San Diego. I just flew to Texas, went on a 6000 mile round trip tour of Mexico and Central America, and flew back to San Diego in less than 10 days. Who decided I got to live in 2007 and not 1907? Times have changed.
2. Usually when I go on these things it’s just me and 5 moms. This time, it was me and 2 other dads and 5 moms. I tried to talk to one of them. I don’t think either of them said 2 words the entire trip. Evidently, men on field trips operate under the same rule as men in front of urinals and men in elevators. You are not allowed to speak to anyone. Eye contact is bad. Grunts are ok.
3. Old Town has pretty plants. All of which are protected. The red dye they used for paint or coloring clothes comes from the “guts” of a white fungus that grows on cactus plants. It’s really weird.
4. Soldiers used to carry women on their shoulders from the boat to shore so their skirts didn’t get wet. I opened the door all week and waited for my wife to walk first on my ship and waited for her food to come before I ate and looked after her as best I could this last week. However, never once did I carry her ashore. None of the Mexican army offered either. Evidently, chivalry is dead.
5. Teachers (who were always women) of the one room school house were not allowed to get married or eat ice cream but they could beat the children with a stick. Why would you starve a woman of enjoyable food, tell her she can’t have sex, and then when she’s good and pissed at the world… give her a stick and tell her to teach your kids? I must be missing something.

Here’s some more pics.