<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316</id><updated>2012-02-01T06:11:17.811-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Family = Hell</title><subtitle type='html'>A diary of my life</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>148</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5508357933023969009</id><published>2011-07-26T05:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-26T05:51:07.781-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making Cash the Old Fashion Way</title><content type='html'>Younger daughter molly learned an important lesson.  It’s not the quality of your product but location and marketing.  She and her friends needed cash now and what better way than the old fashion way, Lemonade stand.  So sugarless, iceless lemonade in hand, off they went to make their fortune in lemonade sales.  A couple of hours later she came skipping back with $70 bucks in hand.  Apparently they had their swimsuits on doing a little dance and the cash came rolling in.  Note to self, 14year old and a lemonade stand needs adult supervision, sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5508357933023969009?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5508357933023969009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5508357933023969009' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5508357933023969009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5508357933023969009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2011/07/making-cash-old-fashion-way.html' title='Making Cash the Old Fashion Way'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4751701918911590631</id><published>2011-06-21T19:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-21T19:41:55.667-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashley and Mr. Patrolman</title><content type='html'>As Ashley and Molly were driving together to a baseball tournament, Ashley gets pulled over for 87 in a 70mph speed zone.  Now for me I would have my license and registration hanging out the window for the officer but not for Ashley.  One quick adjustment of the top, one young male officer equals a warning mam.  Off on her way she starts singing and car dancing.  The cars erratic patterns that mimicked a drunk twice over did not go unnoticed by another Highway Patrolman.  Once again, quick shirt adjustment, one young officer and a story about how she had a dream about being pulled over by a handsome officer equals another warning.  She thought she was doing 85mph but he never got that far before the Ashley charm sent her on her way.  If it was me, I would be in the back of a cruiser heading to jail for reckless child endangerment.  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4751701918911590631?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4751701918911590631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4751701918911590631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4751701918911590631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4751701918911590631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2011/06/ashley-and-mr-patrolman.html' title='Ashley and Mr. Patrolman'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8828220019339075596</id><published>2011-06-21T19:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-21T19:42:56.418-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pile it Higher and Higher</title><content type='html'>It started as a baseball tournament weekend of hell.  Saturday games went well but that night I had stomach pains of no other.  Next morning I was in a fetal position in bed with pains so intense that beads of sweat had formed on my forehead.  Now I am sure my kids had true compassion as they offered to go to Wal-Mart to buy me things to make dad feel better.   I told them sure go and get me meds but Ashley asks should I take your debt card or your visa but answers quickly her own question with “no problem I found both of them.”   I tried to say take my $5 but too late, off to the shopping world Molly and Ashley shall go.  Too weak to finish Sundays tournament the kids propped my up in the pickup truck and sent me back to Manhattan as they had their own car.  I started to ask what they were going to do for money but remembered they had all my plastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night is where this is little TMI, by morning there was a pile of underwear that had the battle scars of missed opportunities to the throne.  Next day wife came down with stomach pains and started adding to the growing pile.   By 7:00pm that night it was an aromic pile of underwear and now a bed sheet.  Must say if I ever had the urge to work in a Nursing Home, I no longer had the urge.  What’s that? Oh now Gunnar has stomach pains…. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8828220019339075596?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8828220019339075596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8828220019339075596' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8828220019339075596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8828220019339075596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2011/06/pile-it-higher-and-higher.html' title='Pile it Higher and Higher'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4305575809183883566</id><published>2011-06-07T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-07T05:49:51.557-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where oh where did my little winky go?</title><content type='html'>I was in the middle of one of my cooking monstrosities in the kitchen when in come my son.  He mumbles something about needing help and all over the walls.  I look over at him and from belly button down his t-shirt is soaked.  He says he needs help, of course, and I need to clean it up.  He exclaims that while relieving himself his winky went inverted which left him nothing to hold on to while streaming.  He described the bathroom adventure like a garden hose on full blast while flopping around.  He managed to hit the bathroom tub, walls, vanity, floor and outside of the toilet.  I asked why and more why did you just not stop?  He gleefully reported that once started he cannot stop and that I better hurry up because it is starting to stink in there.  Somewhere down the line I know this is my punishment for something I did in life, sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4305575809183883566?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4305575809183883566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4305575809183883566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4305575809183883566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4305575809183883566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2011/06/where-oh-where-did-my-little-winky-go.html' title='Where oh where did my little winky go?'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5677959545985662924</id><published>2010-07-01T10:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T11:34:45.351-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog and Chicken Bones Don't Mix</title><content type='html'>Ah vacation, I had the afternoon off from work and was going to work on a new kind of fried food at home.  So caught up in cooking thoughts was I that I didn't notice my boy on the couch or the issue. Pretty soon I heard the old familiar "Daaad".  I see Gunnar stretched out on the love seat with his reading glasses on, engrossed in his reading.  While still reading he stretches out his arm and points to the floor.  Ya so what, a dark towel on the floor or wait....  Its black diarrhea from the dog in a 3' diameter pile.  His response to my WTF" was "oh and there is some more on the stairs and by the downstairs."  The stench was over whelming so I still can't figure out how he could nonchalantly be sitting 3 feet from rotten, bloody gastric diarrhea without the dry heaves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow it seems all my adventures that start in a cooking bliss end up either in diarrhea or vomit. Now who would like some fried chili sticks? Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5677959545985662924?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5677959545985662924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5677959545985662924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5677959545985662924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5677959545985662924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/07/dog-and-chicken-bones-dont-mix.html' title='Dog and Chicken Bones Don&apos;t Mix'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5726751713889655881</id><published>2010-06-29T21:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T19:30:43.089-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gunnar steals home and more</title><content type='html'>Gunnar was catching in the McPherson tournament against the Salina Irish.  After a few catches I hear the familiar "Daaad"  He calls me over to the fence as he mentions something about bathroom.  Apparently the coaches wife overheard and seeing the squirming tells coach that Gunnar has to go.  Coach asks Gunnar for everyone to hear. Gunnar squatted down warming up the pitcher quickly silence the bathroom comments with a quick wave of the hand.  10min later we are out of the inning but darn, Gunnar is on deck.  Soon enough he is at the plate.  First pitch low and outside but Gunnar takes aim and puts to right field for a easy single. First pitch on the next batter Gunnar is off on a steal to second with or without the coache's steal sign. Close call "Slide Gunnar Slide Gunnar"  Now when he gets up there is a question of the stain on his behind side, whew, just dirt.  Next batter first pitch Gunnar has stolen 3rd.  Next batter Gunnar has to wait for 4 pitches before there is a passed ball to the backstop.  Gunnar takes off toward home on a mission to steal home. No slowing down as he hits his peak speed crossing the plate as he heads toward the gate.  With out breaking stride he swings open the gate then quickly rounds the fan stand, "Run Forest Run, er Gunnar run. He streaks off toward the restroom leaving fans in awe of the unusual steal home play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently diarrhea and catching did not go well together but all ended well as that could have been another story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5726751713889655881?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5726751713889655881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5726751713889655881' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5726751713889655881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5726751713889655881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/06/gunnar-steals-home-and-more.html' title='Gunnar steals home and more'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-7140324632553909248</id><published>2010-06-14T08:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T08:36:32.929-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vita Mix Demo</title><content type='html'>We added to our armada of kitchen gadgets the Vita-Mix 5000.  This baby has 10x the power of an ordinary blender with a top speed of 200mph. Now my son which I wont mention which one, Joe, decided he could use it without reading those silly instructions.  I watched in horror as he flipped the switch from 0 to 200mph with out going through the gears. A quick grinding of gears and it was up to full speed.  To have easier access with his food plunger he bypassed the safety top.  At top speed the blades starting tearing into my plastic plunger along with an explosion of liquid that erupted out of the top.  Not sure which was more spectacular watching the food eruption in my kitchen or watching Mt. St. Helen's on TV.  Thinking he had done something wrong, he quickly turned it off and  with a shrug of the shoulders tried it again for a second eruption.  My screams of Nooooo! where unheeded as he was on a mission to do this thing himself.  Kids, sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-7140324632553909248?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/7140324632553909248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=7140324632553909248' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7140324632553909248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7140324632553909248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/06/vita-mix-demo.html' title='Vita Mix Demo'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8709044702479397072</id><published>2010-06-11T09:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-29T22:23:10.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids and sleep don't mix</title><content type='html'>Reason 509 why I didn't get my 6hrs of sleep&lt;br /&gt;12:30am just settled under the covers with fans a blowing and noise maker a noising when the door flies open and lights come blaring on.  13yr old Molly makes the announcement that she would like a P&amp;J before she can go back to sleep.  Doing the math I figured it was quicker to just do it than be harassed for the next 2 hrs.  Back in bed I starting to dose off when I hear screaming that someone needs to turn off her bedroom light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5:30am while on her way to work, wife wakes me up to ask what all the commotion was.  6:00am o'clock 10 Year old Gunnar jumps into bed followed soon by Joe the 20 year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe the key to getting sleep is not having kids or being dead. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8709044702479397072?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8709044702479397072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8709044702479397072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8709044702479397072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8709044702479397072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/06/kids-and-sleep-dont-mix.html' title='Kids and sleep don&apos;t mix'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3246801471176087864</id><published>2010-06-07T20:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T20:59:34.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Balloon vs. Fan</title><content type='html'>Not sure if I can ever get the real story.  All I know is when I get home my expensive lifetime warranty ceiling fan is half fallen apart only attached by wires.  All I got was there was a balloon floating around, lots of pop pop then bad smells, loud noises emanating from the fan then silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obvious question I asked was why we didn’t turn off the fan.  Answer given was “What? And miss the balloon vs. fan show?”  I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t lit match vs. house. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3246801471176087864?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3246801471176087864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3246801471176087864' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3246801471176087864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3246801471176087864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/06/balloon-vs-fan.html' title='Balloon vs. Fan'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4411607582372755696</id><published>2010-06-07T20:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T21:00:49.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'>That's not Downy freshness I smell</title><content type='html'>Being one that wants to be green I use a bath towel at least 3 times to dry off before sending it to the hamper.  With long term memory fading in my old age I keep my towels under my pillow and hanging down the edge of my side of the bed for easy access.  That way it’s easy to find and use apparently by me and others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was tired and not really in tune with odors as I was toweling off but finally I could no longer ignore the strange odor which seemed to be coming from the towel.  After a good old nose sniff there was no doubt that the towel that I was using had been used to soak up dog urine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked the wife the next morning what the though process was, answer “ya, don’t use that towel it’s dirty.”  No kidding, sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4411607582372755696?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4411607582372755696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4411607582372755696' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4411607582372755696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4411607582372755696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/06/thats-not-downy-freshness-i-smell.html' title='That&apos;s not Downy freshness I smell'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4280256902834596945</id><published>2010-01-19T11:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T11:29:15.454-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Flush or not to Flush</title><content type='html'>You would think I would learn by now.  Son plugs the stool with a large deposit.  A quick flush does nothing but fill up the bowl.  Now the power plunger is on the other side of the house in the cold garage and its bed time.  Since it would require 2 flushes to cause alarm what are my chances this project can't want until morning?  Surely my wife would understand the physics of a brim filled toilet.  2:30am wife wakes me to take the dogs out.  As I am im standing in my yard, I think about the previous question but go back to bed.  4:30am wife informs me the toilet is clogged.  I instruct her under penalty of death do NOT flush the toilet and rolled over on to my side with a side thought of "Maybe this is my second chance to go fix the toilet, nah"  5:30am  panic scream of "its going to over flow"  I jumped out running to the bathroom only to see a toilet resembling a chocolate fountain.  The brown sewage is now lapping at the hallway carpet. I scream "need more towels"  Quick and fading responses was "Gotta go, going to be late to work".  After sopping up 10 towels  did things start to look better.  As I was finishing up around the baseboard, I kept reflecting on the original question I had 6hrs earlier and why oh why did I think it would have ended any other way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To answer why the flushing after I said no.  Wife's answer "I just thought maybe I would get lucky on the 2nd flush and it would all go away."  In a certain sense it did all go away after that flush, sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4280256902834596945?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4280256902834596945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4280256902834596945' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4280256902834596945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4280256902834596945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2010/01/flush-or-not-to-flush.html' title='Flush or not to Flush'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-2492390749590029416</id><published>2009-12-27T12:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T13:01:46.809-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Killer hornet on the loose</title><content type='html'>For Xmas Gunnar received a hornet helicopter from Air Hog.  He was getting pretty good at remotely flying the buzzing helicopter around the living room.  While mom was taking a well deserved cat nap on the the couch, Gunnar was flying his helicopter insect around. Somehow his insect of little control had started a circling holding pattern over moms head.  I saw the panic as Gunnar was trying to figure out how to get it off over mom.  Slowly as it was circling it was getting closer and closer.  Gunnar cuts power hoping it will drop and miss his mommy.  But no, it lands square on her face.  Mom shrieks in anticipated pain and shock of this giant bug on her face.  Gunnar in panic, tries an emergency take off and gives it full power.  With buzzing blades smacking mom's face the bug dances around her head followed by mom's screaming while swatting her hands in the air.  Might as well have been a hornets nest on her face as much enthusiasm she was giving.  Gunnar quickly picked up his helicopter which by now had been swatted 10 feet away, and quickly exited the room.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-2492390749590029416?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/2492390749590029416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=2492390749590029416' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2492390749590029416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2492390749590029416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/12/killer-hornet-on-loose.html' title='Killer hornet on the loose'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5186799208555483425</id><published>2009-10-07T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T10:49:25.117-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead Animal on Porch</title><content type='html'>Hard day at work and I just got beaten by a young girl in racquetball so I was needing some downtime.  Since that is something I can't do at home, off to Sis's house to relax.  Just as I was settled down in the comfy chair, feet propped up, Bud Lite in hand while taking in a new recipe on a grilled chicken sandwich with fresh basil, the phone rings.  Wife is demanding for me to come home now and who ever gave me permission to leave my post at home.  My come back of "busy!" was shot down with "If you don't want something cut off while you sleep, you'll come home now!" "Kids are screaming and crying about the poor dead animal that the dog has on the back porch."  Blood is everywhere, animal is dragging its half eaten bloodied body around the deck with shrills of pain every few seconds." I quickly I go from listening to Master Piece background music while pondering a unique chicken sandwich to "come clean up this bloody animal mess."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So knowing I have to sleep sometime, I head home to see everyone hovering around the glass door commenting about the humanity of it all.  As I part the family to take a look, I see a young possum playing possum.  Yes he was roughed up a bit and yes there was saliva all over the deck but that was it.  I scooped him up in a shovel and moved him down to the yard and off he scurried a few minutes later. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5186799208555483425?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5186799208555483425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5186799208555483425' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5186799208555483425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5186799208555483425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/10/dead-animal-on-porch.html' title='Dead Animal on Porch'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-953148768442637639</id><published>2009-09-16T12:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T08:44:26.814-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Ring Tone for the Kids</title><content type='html'>Apparently I had an American Idol experience.  I was trying to figure out why my 7th grade daughter was trying to record me while singing in church.  I know I have a good voice, sing in the Shower and Choir with the possibilities of going semi professional.  After church is over I am mingling with the adults outside the church when I hear a retched sound of someone trying to sing.  To my horror I see Molly playing her recording from her cell phone on mega phone level.  I dashed over and after a quick spectacle, wrestle the phone from her.  It was a case of how you think you sound vs. how you really sound or now days it’s called an American Idle moment.  I turned off the phone and we scurry home.  End of story...apparently not.  Savvy Molly decides to text the voice clip to 178 of her friends at Junior High for their new ring tone on their cell phone.  Comments are coming into my wife that ya they keep hearing the sound clip of her husband.  Make things worse Ms Molly set the sound bit to my ring tone unknowns to me. &lt;br /&gt;I was in the Cabela’s restroom but when I undid my pants belt for a quick shirt tuck the 5lb wallet and cell phones in my pockets caused my shorts to drop like a rock to my ankles but at that moment Molly timed her phone call to me,  my voice bellowing out in Cabela’s restroom in "Oh Sing to the Lord …" anthem.  Of course all 28 macho hunter lookin guys look over to see a guy singing while trying to pull his pants back up in a frantic manner.  As I dashed out of the restroom with my head down, family greets me with laughter and comments of “sing it again Daddy!”  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-953148768442637639?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/953148768442637639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=953148768442637639' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/953148768442637639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/953148768442637639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-ring-tone-for-kids.html' title='New Ring Tone for the Kids'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8436077658740026315</id><published>2009-08-14T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T11:54:16.054-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Breast Pump Modified</title><content type='html'>So this happened about 22 years ago when breast pumps where these small battery operated things.  A typical pumping session could take 30min to get 8oz of milk.  Not like today's commercial grade of 16oz in 10min.  So wife was complaining that the batteries were weak and it was taking too long.  Seeing we didn't have any more AAs batteries I started looking around for an adapter.  Unit called for .6 amp but hey I found one that was 3.8 amp, plug fits good to go.  So wife goes in bathroom. Normal sound the pump makes with the weak pump was "putt putt putt" so I was proud of myself with my new results. A couple of seconds later she plugs in to my Tim the Taylor Tool Man modified pumper only to hear "Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" screams of my "Tit" then silence then muttering that her breast was about ripped off.  Women just don't appreciate a mans help. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8436077658740026315?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8436077658740026315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8436077658740026315' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8436077658740026315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8436077658740026315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/08/breast-pump-modified.html' title='Breast Pump Modified'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3189239324054830034</id><published>2009-06-23T10:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T05:38:30.623-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Deadiest Insects</title><content type='html'>So Molly and I were watching Animal Planets episode on deadliest creatures.  Graphics are amazing as they showed the fangs going in, poison's affect on the human body organs followed up by a slow agonizing death.  There was a scene where this young girl is attack by a spider followed by loud screams and convulsions then a slow death.  Show ends then its time for bed, sweet dreams.  As she is heading to bed I hear a frantic scream.  I come running in and she is frozen with an outreached finger pointing to the wall.  She is now repeating frantically, "Kill it daddy, kill it."  Sure it enough its a black spider just like the one on TV on the wall, sleeping I believe.  As I approach it with the broom, the spider wakes up and realizes that it needs to move quickly.  Scurrying for its life it races across the wall with me taking swipes at.  Molly in screams of panic says "Its getting away, its getting away"  Spider realizes that the open wall is no place to live so it drops to the floor and makes for the safety of our room.  It rounds the corner but is slowed up by a shoe.  With one more chance for the kill I get him with the broom followed by a quick stomp of the shoe.  Molly asks in a trembling voice, "Did you get it daddy, is it dead???"  Now the obvious answer would have been Yes but no I had to play it out as follows.  I scream its getting away and start thumping my foot as I race toward Molly room.  Molly freaks as she sees my stomping into her room.  I give a few more futile stomps then emerge from her room.  She asks doubtingly "did you kill it"  I respond with a "sure?"  She screams "you didn't kill it I know because why were you still stomping in my room??"  I said because I was just messing with you.  Damage is done, she is now scream/crying that she can't live in the house because she saw what the spider did to the girl on TV.  Compromise was she could sleep with us until she felt safe.  Lucky for me it was only 3 weeks until she actually forgot why she was sleeping in our bed. sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3189239324054830034?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3189239324054830034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3189239324054830034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3189239324054830034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3189239324054830034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/06/deadiest-insects.html' title='Deadiest Insects'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-2791576575241967869</id><published>2009-06-23T10:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T10:28:05.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Spills and ur out</title><content type='html'>There is a tradition with my wife.  I do a professional clean on the car including shampooing the carpets and she will christen the upholstery with a spilled drink.  Drinks are spilled within the first 24hrs then not again until the carpets are cleaned, those are her rules.  So on our trip to CO the first drink was spilled middle row of the van while I was pulling out of the gas station, my fault, I did accelerate.  2hrs was later as we were stopping for the next gas station, drink went all over front including my shoe and leg, my fault, I did use the brakes.  So as she refilled her drink once again and as we were about to pull out, I looked at her and made the comment of "you still have the back row to spill your drink yet."  I get  the look of "this drink is so going all over you."  I quickly reminder that she was holding a new drink and not an old drink, a moment later she lowered her drink commenting that I was damn lucky her new drink was not worth using on me.  If it had been a 30 min drink, the outcome could have been more blog material.  Geezzz, women are so sensitive, sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-2791576575241967869?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/2791576575241967869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=2791576575241967869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2791576575241967869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2791576575241967869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/06/3-spills-and-ur-out.html' title='3 Spills and ur out'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-6277653547346292396</id><published>2009-06-15T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T10:47:49.134-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Locked Doors</title><content type='html'>I had Gunnar playing in one tournament with Joe playing his game 70miles away.  Due to game time conflict Gunnar was staying with a players parents while I went to see Joe's game.  The plan was for Gunnar to stay with the family but eventually go to my hotel room to sleep as I would be back shortly.  It was 12:08am by the time I got back from an exhausting drive back from Joe's game.  I tried my electronic key no luck, flashed red. I walked the short quarter mile back to the lobby to say my key don't work.  Tried my new programmed key, same damn red flash.  I again walked back and said try new plastic, again that didn't work.  The front desk personnel came back and tried the master key, no luck. Man by this time it was 12:50am and I think I had walked at least 2 miles.  Quick call in by the hotel employee to management revealed that the battery was dead in the lock.  She said no problem, the maintenance guy was on call and should be here within the hour, sigh. 1:20am he shows up and looks at the lock and says, red flashing means it has been locked from inside.  Once again I pound on the door and call the phone inside by no Gunnar.  Maint. guy hooks up his black programmable box to the door and after a quick 10min success.  But the door hits a manual dead bolt which requires a real key.  15min later they come back and try the key.  Door opens but then hits the inside chain.  5 min of yelling let me in, Gunnar comes and opens the door.  2:20am I crash out on the bed.  Good thing game time wasn't until 8:00am that morning.  Did I mention when I signed out they charged my credit card $1,001.00 vs 101.00 for the night., sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-6277653547346292396?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/6277653547346292396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=6277653547346292396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6277653547346292396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6277653547346292396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/06/locked-doors.html' title='Locked Doors'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1938718868930294078</id><published>2009-05-25T14:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T14:52:47.497-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Red Chevy Blazers do have a suspension.</title><content type='html'>So we are on our way to CO for vacation driving in a 3 van caravan with us riding point.  I was riding shot gun with number 1 daughter driving.  I had dozed off for a few minutes but as I was coming out of sleep I thought as I looked out my window a turn siginal on from the car next to us. By the time I got my second eye open I relized we were passing a group of cars behind a semi but square in the Red Chevy Blazer's blind spot.  I was about ready to say something to my driver when the Chevy moved over into our lane.  Somehow the driver say us and swerved back right.  At that point I lost him but then I could hear screeching tires but no blazer.  I spun around and looked out the back window all to see the following for the next 7 secs.&lt;br /&gt;Blazer had then over corrected in a left turn put his vehicle on 2 wheels and careened left toward us.  Missing us by inches he flew into the grassy median, took one bounce before he hit the embankment on the other side of the highway.  Launched himself 3 feet into the air, flew over 2 lanes of on coming traffic and landed with a few more bounces then launched himself again and landed on a frontage road and kept driving like he knew of some sort of shortcut. The scene was something from Dukes of Hazard with dirt and grass trailing behind the airborne Blazer. Points to notice.  Had he hit us the first time most certain pile up on I-70, when he over corrected and went left missing the back of van, certain pile up, Blazer going sideways and not rolling was certain death, going across oncoming traffic should have been a certain fatal pileup.  Some how the gods were with us and that Chevy Blazer that day. sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1938718868930294078?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1938718868930294078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1938718868930294078' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1938718868930294078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1938718868930294078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/05/red-chevy-blazers-do-have-suspension.html' title='Red Chevy Blazers do have a suspension.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-2620297853248015780</id><published>2009-05-21T11:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T11:44:12.997-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wallet is not a football</title><content type='html'>Son who loves to throw the football was in the process of getting my wallet for me.  My wallet is the Harley Davis size and packed to the brim.  In other words, about the size of a small football.  I see his arm go back with the wallet and I screamed No!!! but hey what can happen, just a bush between me and dad.  As the wallet is sailing through the air, the snaps open up right as it passes over the bush.  Like a NY parade with confetti the contents came raining down on the bush.  All 17 credit credit cards, doc appts, gift cards, and cash.  To this day I still will look over in the bush and say "oh there's a credit card I have been missing"  sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-2620297853248015780?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/2620297853248015780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=2620297853248015780' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2620297853248015780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2620297853248015780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/05/wallet-is-not-football.html' title='Wallet is not a football'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5963106617456619493</id><published>2009-05-11T05:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T06:04:50.480-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Family picnic</title><content type='html'>It was the eighth annual outdoor picnic party at the bank.  Blow up rides, band all the grilled food you can eat.  Just sat down with my load of food and trying to decide which to eat first, polish brat or the hamburger when daughter Molly came up behind Gunnar who was busy eating.  Molly had that look of "I've got ya" when she pulled from behind her back a snow cone.  Before I could say "don't think about it"  she smashed it Gunnar's head.  Pretty much got the hulk reflex out of him as he grabbed his cone and slung ice and juice back across him.  All I could say to the affect people was "he will be dealt with harshly if he makes it back home alive." sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5963106617456619493?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5963106617456619493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5963106617456619493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5963106617456619493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5963106617456619493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/05/family-picnic.html' title='Family picnic'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3923294166489127193</id><published>2009-04-24T10:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T10:55:31.527-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheap Groceries</title><content type='html'>When I unexpectedly came home for lunch I noticed my daughter coming out of the house loaded with grocery sacks.  I asked WTF is this.  She said I needed groceries such as chicken, cereal, sugar and cheese and by the way, you are getting low on cheese.  I asked whats wrong with going to the store.  Response, "Its cheaper going to your house." Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3923294166489127193?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3923294166489127193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3923294166489127193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3923294166489127193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3923294166489127193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/04/cheap-groceries.html' title='Cheap Groceries'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-897969943426142922</id><published>2009-04-10T05:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T05:45:24.281-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Broken Heart</title><content type='html'>To counter the teasing Gunnar received in 1st grade from siblings and others that "Gunnars got a girlfriend" chant, explained to him that is the goal of a guy, to get girlfriends.  Wife blames me for this carry over to now 3rd grade.  Apparently it was now the thing for a guy to have as many girlfriends as possible amoung the males in the glassroom.  Wife gets a call from a concerned teacher if Gunnar was all right.  After school was let out she found the guy with his head on the desk in tears. In his out stretch hand she found a crumpled up note from a girl that said it could never be and had a broken heart drawn.  In his desk he had several other notes that he was going to send to said girl but not now, not ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-897969943426142922?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/897969943426142922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=897969943426142922' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/897969943426142922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/897969943426142922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/04/first-broken-heart.html' title='First Broken Heart'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-2972333681750568300</id><published>2009-04-03T12:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T10:40:26.044-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Red Light</title><content type='html'>Wife and Joe are in the car sitting at a busy intersection waiting for ever for the traffic light to change to green.  Wife was taking son to the base ball field complex where they have gold, blue, red, green fields.  With out much thought into the response, she asks where is he playing. He a says "Green".  Thinking somehow she daydreamed through the wait light, she shoots forward through the intersection.  My son told me later that between the screams, screeching tires and honks, he was going to die.  Asked wife, response, "No more using the word "Green" while in the car", sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-2972333681750568300?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/2972333681750568300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=2972333681750568300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2972333681750568300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2972333681750568300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/04/red-light.html' title='Red Light'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1075296503679249247</id><published>2009-03-27T06:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T17:50:06.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bleeding on the Brain</title><content type='html'>My sister who is an MD was telling me cases where low impact injuries to the head had caused bleeding on the brain and in some cases people would during sleep suffocate on their own vomit.  We were on vacation and had connecting rooms at the hotel with her in the other room laying on the bed.  Me being the neat freak in our room was straightening the shoes between the dresser and the door that connected the rooms.  Unknownst to me my wife who was in the other room with my sister, decided to come in through the solid core 90lb connecting room door. I think I may have see the door out of my peripheral  before I heard the crash as it slammed into my head. As I reeled backwards my arm cleared off the dresser before I came to rest on my back on the floor.  I must have scream "Nights of Columbus" because the only sympathy I got from my sister was laughter from the other room.  Wife who actually seemed concerned, especially after hearing how many people succumb to their head injury stories, asked "Should he have that checked out?"  Sister after establishing that I had good life insurance responded "Just let nature take its course", sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1075296503679249247?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1075296503679249247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1075296503679249247' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1075296503679249247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1075296503679249247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/03/bleeding-on-brain.html' title='Bleeding on the Brain'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-598064688534288245</id><published>2009-03-21T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T20:47:07.151-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Retro, First Pregnancy</title><content type='html'>We were in about 8 mos of the pregnancy with our first child or I should say my wife was. Stuck in typical LA traffic we were heading home from dinner.  Wife was giving me instructions on how I needed to get her home since morning sickness was happening.  Like what honk my horn and the 8 lanes of traffic are going to part I said.  I don’t know if it was going to happen anyway or it was a response to my blunt but realistic comment.  She turned looking at me then grab my shirt to pull me closer.  “What”, I said.  She responded with a projectile vomit starting with my face then running down my side.  This was not good and the stench was over helming.  I quickly rolled down the window and like a dog held my head out the window all while trying to wipe the chunks off my face and keep my dinner down.  Needles to say the vomit stayed with the car for years as it seeped down between seats and any other open crevice.   I asked in later life wtf, why didn’t you stick your head out the window or on the floor board, response, “I wasn’t feeling well and I needn’t help.”  Little did I know, as documented in my previous stories, vomit, # 2's and I were going to get to know each other. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-598064688534288245?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/598064688534288245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=598064688534288245' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/598064688534288245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/598064688534288245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/03/retro-first-pregnancy.html' title='Retro, First Pregnancy'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1868423200102652756</id><published>2009-03-13T11:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T19:19:44.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday 13th Date Night</title><content type='html'>Once and maybe twice a year my wife gets Friday and Saturday off from work which means we can have a date night.  For 5 weeks I was counting the days that we would go to Chili’s, Movie, Cold Stone Ice-cream and maybe get the wife liquored up before we went home and maybe I would get lucky that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though the day was Friday the 13th my work morning was calm.  Had Pandora classic 70s rock going and had just settled down for a leisurely yet somewhat productive quite morning.  9:00am wife calls me at work saying she is in big trouble.  I ask like how big, she tells me the collection agency is calling Ashley regarding the uncollected funds from the hospital, $200bucks which was from a drunken Ashley ER visit.  So what’s the problem, it’s her problem.  Yes but then she tells the collection agent she is Ashley in order to gain more insight into the problem.  When she finally confesses that she is not Ashley, the agent becomes angry ant tells her that what she is doing is illegal and will be reported, then my wife hears a dial tone.  Not a problem, wife is going to drain my grocery account and go pay the hundreds to pay off my daughters account.  Never mind the fact I just gave my daughter hundreds to take care of the bill last month. Sigh, hopefully wife will be settled down by date night.  10min later daughter calls to say she over slept and was late opening the store.  Told the angry boss that her dog had health issues and was close to death and that is why she was not at work.  Ashley tells me that when her boss calls mom, mom needs to go along with her lie about the dog being sick.  Wife becomes frazzled with all the lies she has to deal with but the morning is young, plenty of time to get back on the date night theme.   20 min later wife calls and says Joe base ball cleats are no good, needs baseball pants and a new bat bag because his is bag now looks old but the bus taking his team to AZ training is leaving in 90 min and would I give her the credit card.  Hell, what’s another 2 hundred to the bill so long as we can have date night..  45 min later mechanic calls about my wife’s car, coils, rotor, brakes and belt, $1,000 please.  Wife is upset saying now we can’t afford to go out.  I remind her that we have gift cards so I think we are still on.  3:00 with 2 more hours to date night.  3:05 wife calls to say Gunnar sprained/broke ankle in school.  Not looking good for date night.  Leave docs office on crutches at 5:30.  Okay dinner is out but we can make 7:05 movie.  6:05 Ashley calls to say she is at her work 10 mi outside of Manhattan and she locked her keys in.  Since road side service is only good with wife’s phone, someone would have to rush out there with it.  I tell wife that we can do this if I go now we will only miss 30 of the movie and trailers.  Wife says forget it and she is now out of the mood. Somehow my relaxing day at the office is now watching $1,628 being drained from my account and I get no date night.  I went from exciting date night to another cold shower night. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1868423200102652756?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1868423200102652756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1868423200102652756' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1868423200102652756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1868423200102652756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/03/typical-day-of-phone-calls-from-family.html' title='Friday 13th Date Night'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-9216182888106483083</id><published>2009-03-04T11:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T11:08:04.719-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dad and Son the mechanics</title><content type='html'>Wife calls me to tell me what a wonderful meal she has made and to hurry home.  Can't believe it, my wife has cooked me a hot meal for a change.  5min later as I am driving home I am told not to come home but to now help the 18year old who's car is  stranded on the roadside.  I went over to my parents house where Joe was to give me an in depth problem description.  Something about it took awhile to warm up and it drove like in 3rd gear while in 1st.  He also had let the battery go mostly dead but was able get it started.  Me being mechanically inclined and my son have taking 2 course of advanced car mechanics were looking at the possibilities, alternator, fuel pump or maybe a clogged fuel filter.  Grandpa ever once in awhile from his chair would pipe in, "Did you try putting gas in it?"  Joe countered he only had 150mi on a 350mi tank so that couldn't be it.  After 30 min of diagnose, I called the tow truck anyway but to humor my dad we took some gas.  As we are waiting for the tow truck, I told Joe to throw some gas in to kill some time. 2 min later his car fires to life and he speeds off.  2 hours of trouble shooting and a missed hot meal.  I really would like to know what they're teaching in that mechanic school other than how to figure accurately how much your gas tank really holds, 11.31gal in this case. sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-9216182888106483083?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/9216182888106483083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=9216182888106483083' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/9216182888106483083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/9216182888106483083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/03/dad-and-son-mechanics.html' title='Dad and Son the mechanics'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-7081046432559512501</id><published>2009-01-26T22:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T11:39:19.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Colorado Roads are to die for</title><content type='html'>We are coming back from San Diego but need to get to my wife's mother who is in a hospital in Luvland Co.  Which makes it about a 1,200 mile one day outing.  Everything was going fine until we got to the last leg of the trip, going through the mountains on I-70 in the dark.  No big deal, I have head lights and the poor reflective lane divider markers.  But then some cloud of rain starting following us over the state.  So now I have poor reflective markers that in rain are worthless, lanes with ruts that are filling up with water, no shoulders, 1 foot guard rails and 100' shear drop offs.  I slow down to a nice 30mph with only slight hydroplaning and not a f'n clue where the road is.  Cars are now whizzing past me as I am white knuckled clutching the wheel.  I soon realized that it didn't matter if I couldn't see the lanes as everyone else made it one giant free for all.  I tell the wife  that if I find a shoulder I'm pullin off but from here deep sleep she mutters, "keep going".  With her full support I hydro plane on. 1 mile later I see 2 cars in the side of the mountain, 15 miles later a SUV is hanging by the back axle on the bridge's guard rail with a 100 foot drop to no where and yet the cars keeping whizzing by me.  I have had a lot of stress but that 70 miles of white knuckle hell was the worst.&lt;br /&gt;PS  Wife slept through it all only wake up and say "you don' make very good time when you drive"  I'm thinkin, "Ya but we are alive aren't we?" sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-7081046432559512501?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/7081046432559512501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=7081046432559512501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7081046432559512501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7081046432559512501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/01/colorado-roads-are-to-die-for.html' title='Colorado Roads are to die for'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4634975320417164855</id><published>2009-01-26T21:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T22:27:02.323-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Get the bread kids don't like.</title><content type='html'>I seem to have this problem of no bread to make sandwiches.  So I tried getting the most unappealing bread there was, something the kids would scour and say "yuck", something like brown pumpernickel round loaf.  Got home and made a small test pastrami sandwich on it, outstanding it was.  Couldn't wait to make my full blown sandwich with hydroponic tomato on it for my lunch the next day.  When I get home I am horrified to see only one heal left.  I ask my wife wtf happen to my nasty looking loaf.  Oh the kids have decided they love your bread.  I rush back to Wal-mart  to reload only to find out that they just sold the last one for the season.  Apparently its seasonal item.  So now I am left with Angus pastrami, baby Swiss cheese and tomato with a sliver of onion to go on 3 day old bargain bread.&lt;br /&gt;sigh, wasn't the 21yr old daughter suppose to have moved out????&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4634975320417164855?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4634975320417164855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4634975320417164855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4634975320417164855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4634975320417164855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2009/01/get-bread-kids-dont-like.html' title='Get the bread kids don&apos;t like.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8681629122720325952</id><published>2008-12-31T22:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T11:37:28.841-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Daugher, vacation = ER</title><content type='html'>My  wife and I went on our vacation that we do every 10 years.  Things were going well as I was smoothly talking my way to a night of romance.  Romance was in the air and I don't think I was going to need the cold shower that night.  Then at 6:07pm the phone rings.  "Ya this is Ashley's friend and she drank so much that she is passed out in the ER and we think you should come back to pick her up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That conversation with my wife resulted in her freaking out over the $500 ER bill and a possible dead daughter.  Time to take a cold shower and head back to Kansas.&lt;br /&gt;sigh, kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8681629122720325952?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8681629122720325952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8681629122720325952' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8681629122720325952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8681629122720325952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/daugher-vacation-er.html' title='Daugher, vacation = ER'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3814738067252739639</id><published>2008-12-31T22:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T22:46:24.509-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How many abulances does it take??</title><content type='html'>I was in the middle of a big fund raiser event located on main street.  I had 20 customers waiting in line and I was cooking as fast as i could when the phone rang.  21yr old calls and says there has been an accident, there is police and ambulances.  I said is this a joke cause I am really busy here.  Luck would have it my wife was getting off work and she likes these kinds of projects.&lt;br /&gt;Turns out&lt;br /&gt;1.  Daughter's foot slipped off and she bumps van in front.&lt;br /&gt;2.  No damage on bumpers but women jumps out and screams that all of her family is injured and needs ambulances.&lt;br /&gt;3.  With 3 cop cars and 2 ambulances taking people in for massive neck injuries, police are still trying to figure out if they are at the correct accident scene.&lt;br /&gt;4. 6 mos later the letter from the attorney is warning us that his client is still determining the damages.&lt;br /&gt;5. More to come on this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3814738067252739639?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3814738067252739639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3814738067252739639' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3814738067252739639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3814738067252739639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/how-many-abulances-does-it-take.html' title='How many abulances does it take??'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5344714861129815472</id><published>2008-12-31T22:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T22:34:55.780-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Son's new car, maybe</title><content type='html'>Son was getting his first car, a 86 rebuilt Honda civic but it about did survive. &lt;br /&gt;1.  On the way home in the badlands of New Mexico it his hit by a coyote that takes out the bumper and cracks the windshield.&lt;br /&gt;2.  While its in the body shop it misses out on the 200mph baseball size hail that does 2.8 million damage to town.  Hail was so strong it was putting holes through cars and barns.&lt;br /&gt;3.  Month later once out of the shop a tornado misses our house by 2 miles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Car survives and Joe has his new car and dad gets whats left of his old car back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5344714861129815472?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5344714861129815472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5344714861129815472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5344714861129815472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5344714861129815472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/sons-new-car-maybe.html' title='Son&apos;s new car, maybe'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8238769261117171809</id><published>2008-12-31T22:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T20:46:05.564-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How to fix water damaged cell phone</title><content type='html'>21yr daughter comes in announcing that she dropped her cell phone in the snow but don't worry she knows how to dry it off.  She reports that her good friend at the customer service says to put the cell phone in the dryer.  As I was thinking how you would position the hair dryer to blow on the cell phone, I hear the clothes dryer door slam shut.  I screamed "Nooooo" only to hear "don't worry dad, the lady says this works"  The single clunking becomes multiple clunking as I screamed "STOP!!"  As daughter is assembling the phone back together, I explained if she meant dryer then you need to insert the rack in the dryer and put the phone on the rack so it isn't smashed into oblivion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not much of a lesson learned as she got a new phone under a new contract which I found out meant I was paying more.  So maybe there was a purpose in smashing the phone after all.&lt;br /&gt;sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8238769261117171809?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8238769261117171809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8238769261117171809' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8238769261117171809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8238769261117171809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/how-to-fix-water-damaged-cell-phone.html' title='How to fix water damaged cell phone'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8347795811566373561</id><published>2008-12-31T22:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T21:49:10.618-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New year's romance</title><content type='html'>Its new year's eve and I am ready to make something of it.  Older son is spending the night at a friends, 11yr is at cousins, 21 yr daughter hopefully is not coming home to crash which only leaves the 9yr old home but sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its 11:30pm and I have the basket with special towels, soap and lotions.  As I am heading to the jacuzzi, I am hit with the smell of puke when I open our bedroom door.  Son has crawled onto my side of the bed and has puked all over himself and my bed.  Wife says " romance night is off, go wash the sheets" as she heads to the couch, leaving my standing there with my basket of romance paraphernalia thinking wtf just happened here. 90 min later bed is made, taken cold shower and to  go I go bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh, kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8347795811566373561?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8347795811566373561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8347795811566373561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8347795811566373561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8347795811566373561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-years-romance.html' title='New year&apos;s romance'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-6152802698912983128</id><published>2008-12-31T21:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T21:47:23.377-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why dad did not go to the talent show.</title><content type='html'>Apparently I volunteered to be the first to take in the stomach flu at our house.  I started getting chest pains but attributed the pains to the fact I hadn't eaten in 3 days.  Later that evening around 7:00pm I was resting comfortable in the recliner up at my sister's party watching the Denver playoffs.  Shortly afterward it was announced that my kids and their cousins would be doing a talent show in the basement and thus the migration started to the stairs.  At this point I was concentrating on the fact the tightness in my chess was making it hard to breath let alone yell out, "we have a situation here."  The room cleared and I was left alone rubbing my chest.  Oh well how long can a kids talent show last?  ONE hour later my daughter is the first back up and starts in on the tongue lashing on how bad a father I am.  Sis, who is in the medical field looks at me and ask if I am okay?  No not with a 100 pounds on my chest.  So with an aspirin under the tongue I am heading toward the Regional hospital to the heart unit.  I still think I was hearing from the 11yr old as I was going out the door, "You are the worst dad for not coming to my show."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get to the ER and checked in only to hear that the Regional heart unit was closed for the holidays and I would need to be off by ambulance to the next city so please no heart attacks until you are the responsibility of the next hospital.  By the time I get checked in its 2:30am, I am told there will be tests will start at 4:30am so rest what you can.  2:31am, call from my concerned 19yr old, concerned that someone needs to come home now because, the 11yr is in my bed puking all over it.  Great, that will be nice to come home to, dried puke in the bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;$20,000 worth of tests later it turns out the ECG abnormality was normal and no heart attack.  Since I started the flu bug, I was vote to scrape puke off when we got back.&lt;br /&gt;Gotta love the family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-6152802698912983128?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/6152802698912983128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=6152802698912983128' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6152802698912983128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6152802698912983128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/why-dad-did-not-go-to-talent-show.html' title='Why dad did not go to the talent show.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1192056056800517489</id><published>2008-12-31T21:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T21:48:09.905-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New way to get ice off the drive way</title><content type='html'>Typical winter in Kansas, it rained then froze ice all over the road ways.  As I am coming into the house, I notice  by the door my 10lb sledge hammer.  Before I could ask my 18yr son if he knew why it was left out there, he reports "hey dad the sledge hammer works real good on getting the ice off the driveway."  So at least I will not be wondering how tf did these chips get into my driveway last winter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1192056056800517489?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1192056056800517489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1192056056800517489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1192056056800517489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1192056056800517489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-way-to-get-ice-off-drive-way.html' title='New way to get ice off the drive way'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-918145474756559086</id><published>2008-05-07T05:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T10:30:29.065-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Auto Tech 101</title><content type='html'>So I come out of the house only to see my son with the hood to my car popped up. I should have treated this situation like that of a suspicious person in a restricted area of an airplane but no. I entertained all his questions of "What’s this" and "What does this do" He became especially interested in the battery and how to clean the terminals. Knowing he was taking Auto Tech 101, I thought this was a legitimate question. He removed the terminal cables and proceeded to clean connectors and terminals. 5 min later he was done and the hood is down. “You are good to go sir.” Great, because I had an errand to run. I was merrily heading to my destination when I reached the main artery where I needed to turn on to. It’s a 4 lane road with high speed traffic. I looked to my left and see only a semi but plenty of time to pull in front of. I do so or at least start/commit to my turn. But then there is literally no power. I pump the accelerator but realize all lights are off. At this point I sense I need to accelerate or be a grill decoration of the semi that is bearing down on me. Luck was with me as I had enough adrenalin to turn a powerless steering wheel to the edge of the road. This was quickly followed by an irritated blast from the Semi's horn as he missed me by inches. As I am standing there under the hood thinking WTF, it dawns on me what had transpired 30min earlier. I checked the cables and sure enough they pull off easily. Apparently next week in Auto Tech 101, they were going to cover tightening bolts that you loosen. Being a mile from home, I call home but no answer, son has now fled the crime scene. A quick walk home and back earns me a socket and wrench that don't fit each other. Socket work good enough to tighten it so I can drive about 200 feet before I have to jiggle the cable, drive 200feet jiggle cable, drive..... When son finally gets home I ask “what about tightening the bolts back.” Response "Oh". Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-918145474756559086?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/918145474756559086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=918145474756559086' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/918145474756559086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/918145474756559086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/05/auto-tech-101.html' title='Auto Tech 101'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5440558594825052333</id><published>2008-04-07T10:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T10:29:22.658-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog and New Medication = Project</title><content type='html'>I will admit that this situation was my fault for not posting a sign.  75# dog was on  new arthritis medication and apparently she was not reacting to it well and thus the reason I was keeping her outside for the day as I went to work.  Molly calls me at 8:30am at work to say Samantha does not want to go back outside.  I said how could she go back outside if she was out to begin with.    She reported that she was looking sympathetic and whimpering.  I said didn't you read the note, wait thats right I forgot the note.  What the hey, Samantha the dog always stays in the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come home  and open the door to a wall of stench like that of a pail of fermented diapers.  Quick scan shows no mess upstairs I head down stairs to see Joe at the computer who is unaffected by the toxic fumes and says nothing when he sees me so mess must not be down here.  But wait he is entrenched with MySpace and oblivious to the shit around him, literally.    I scream as I see vomit not less than 8 feet from him.  A quick look to my right reveals 8 piles, er pools of diahria on the carpet.  I yell at Joe did you not see the mines of fecal as you left your room.  Puzzle look from him as looks at me and my pointing  finger.  His focus pulls away from the MySpace and his smell sensors verify what he was seeing.  He screamed and exclaims, "I almost step in that stuff.  I wondered what it was."  The power of observation of a teenager, simple amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Standard cleanup procedures,  alcohol, steam cleaner, Resolve, Frebreeze, and a shower. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5440558594825052333?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5440558594825052333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5440558594825052333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5440558594825052333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5440558594825052333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/04/dog-and-new-medication-project.html' title='Dog and New Medication = Project'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5585390068882088935</id><published>2008-03-23T19:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-23T19:54:50.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How to get stuck in ones driveway</title><content type='html'>Not to pick on women drivers, just the ones in my house.  12:20am just started first stage of sleep when daughter Ashley calls to report she was stuck in her driveway which was located off the back alley.  Being the sympathetic father I was I said thanks for letting me know and unplugged the phone.  Next day in Sundays best, we headed over to her place after church to see how one could actually get stuck.  Turns out the drive way sloped up off the alley.  Apparently she spun the wheel until it dug out the dirt until the front part of the car was beached but the good news was the tire on the left was still in the alley and had some traction.   Piece of cake to push out so I thought of course I was assuming she was in reverse and not in drive.  I stood by the front side of the car to see how stuck she was during her attempt to get out.  Ashley without warning cranks the wheel from straight to hard right for maximum mud fleeing and guns it forward.  With mud flying the car lurches forward digging in the front bumper into the driveway.   I admit it was my fault for not explaining to get unstuck we need to reverse direction.  Second attempt with straighten wheels in reverse she eases out.  Car came out nicely except for pulling half the bumper off as the car was backing out.   I was then thinking didn't we just spend $2,300 getting the front fixed from the last accident.  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5585390068882088935?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5585390068882088935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5585390068882088935' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5585390068882088935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5585390068882088935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-to-get-stuck-in-ones-driveway.html' title='How to get stuck in ones driveway'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-371355679058143193</id><published>2008-03-15T21:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-23T19:57:19.017-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Putting into Park.</title><content type='html'>I get this story from Molly who recants the story with vivid detail.  Mother, Molly and Gunnar were going into Dara's Fast Lane for Beverages.  Mom was getting her diet coke mix, Molly was getting her slushy mix and Gunnar his favorite gum.  As the family was waiting in line with their beverages, a man came rushing in yelling to the tranquil crowd, "Who is the owner of the Mini Van?"  Mom said, "I am."  Man reports that the van is rolling away.  Wife has vivid images from the recently watched movie "RV" and goes running outside only to see a crowd bracing themselves against the car preventing impact with the gas pumps.  Mom jumps in Van, puts into park and like its no big deal goes back in to pay.  Parking properly has never been her strong suite.  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-371355679058143193?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/371355679058143193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=371355679058143193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/371355679058143193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/371355679058143193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/03/putting-into-park.html' title='Putting into Park.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3639779281171673783</id><published>2008-03-06T07:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T15:04:35.078-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birth Control via Castration</title><content type='html'>Side note on how lucky Gunnar made it in to the family.  Snip and clip operation was schedule but Doc.  broke his ankle 2 days before surgery, rescheduled.  We had been trying for 9 years and only had Molly, hot jacuzzi bath with lots of alcohol, wife nursing and wrong time of the month and surgery was the next day.  So what the hell, what are the chances?  Lucky boy he was to get by all that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First I would say don't take anyone with you that is going to watch and give a commentary on the procedure as it happens I don't need to hear things like it looks like a little meat ball or its just like cutting spaghetti.  I thought the local shot was going to be the worst of it, wrong.  After he start cutting, the 2 boys quickly retreated back into my body.  Not to worry, the Doc.  braced one arm on my leg when he said "This might hurt a bit"  Then the tug-a-war began, my testicles straining to get away while the Doc was pulling with all his might to get then down for  the severing.  Might as well have been smacking them between ping pong paddles to his pulling.  They say icepack for a couple of days and your good to go, that and 3 years of feeling like you are constantly being racked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom Line:  Never say what are the chances and if you can talk her into getting them tied, go that route.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3639779281171673783?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3639779281171673783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3639779281171673783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3639779281171673783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3639779281171673783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/03/birth-control-via-castration.html' title='Birth Control via Castration'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-68026866520193497</id><published>2008-03-06T06:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T21:02:30.033-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Daddy has a new girfriend</title><content type='html'>My investigatory daughter decided to see if I had a girlfriend, like I could afford one of those.  She started off going through a couple of my voice mail messages on my cell phone.  She hit pay dirt so she thought.  She hurries off to my sister's house where she is in  a state of tears.  For further evidence she calls my girlfriend who is barraged with who is this and why is she with her dad.  He responds with no I am not his girlfriend but his boss.  All of this made for a nice annual evaluation and conversation with my wife who now wants to know who I am messing around with.  Sigh, women.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-68026866520193497?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/68026866520193497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=68026866520193497' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/68026866520193497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/68026866520193497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2008/03/daddy-has-new-girfriend.html' title='Daddy has a new girfriend'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1760470074984295353</id><published>2007-12-28T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T22:10:11.977-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Encounters with the law</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;To understand how my life lives out in the real world I started thinking of my relationship with the law so I am recapping my encounters with the law.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;1.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;On coming police car turns on emergency lights and starts to pull a U-turn.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Dave stops to allow the turn only to be rear ended by a lady driver.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Cop signals me over to the curb only to yell at me for stopping and causing an accident.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was sited for reckless driving which I won in court.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;2.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Driving through and intersection when oncoming driver fails to yield with her left turn.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Dave avoids accident with stunt like reflexes only to be pulled over a block later.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Cop tells me how dangerous the situation was and that I should pay more attention to those types of drivers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I finally had to ask why he was pulling me over and not her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Something about those kinds of drivers are past help so he thought he would warn me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am thinking, maybe if you would do your job and pull over and ticket violators instead of me they would stop doing it.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;3.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Stopped at &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;San Diego&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; check point.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Sir should you be driving?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I answer yes why? “You don’t look very good so I am going to have to ask you to talk with our officers”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I get the standard questions of who is the Prez, who won the world series and are you legally here?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I look at them do I look south of the border?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am from &lt;st1:state st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Kansas&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:state&gt;, the land of oz.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They laugh and send me on.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After so many of these stops I swore one time they called me by name.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will say that when my blond wife was with me they never pulled me over.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;4.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Copper pulls me over.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Sir, have you done anything illegal?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am thinking don’t say anything sarcastic since obviously he is looking for something to haul me in.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After the routine questions on my involvement with drugs, burglaries, place of birth and speeding he lets me go.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;5. New Mexico HiPo pulls me over.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After making me sit in a hot car for 10 min. he comes over to my door.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Sir my partner and I noticed that you only have 1 screw in your license plate and in this state you need two.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was thinking maybe they would enjoy a good come back like, "So you say to be legal you need two screws" but decided against jail time. We get out and look and sure enough one screw has fallen out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After convincing them that I was legally here, they give me a verbal warning.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Damn cops, if they were going to pull me over they should have done it 15 min early when I was seeing how the car handled at 140mph.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now that would have had something to pull me over for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;6. Four lane road nobody in front and traffic 500 feet back. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;A car runs a yield at the on ramp. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I easily make the lane change to avoid accident. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Cop pulls me over. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Asks for ID before going back to his car. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Comes back and starts asking me the usually questions of where I was born, where I grew up and why was I out. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Being in rush I finally said something stupid like “What did you pull me over for”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He pauses for a moment and comes back with “Reckless driving, lane change without signaling.”&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;True but what about the guy that nearly hit me and even so there was nobody around me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Response was a glare and a sign here sir.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I went to court since there is no way a judge would side with his story.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I prepared my case, studied CA road rules, had map of the incident only to see officer "give Dave a hard time"&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;was not there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pleaded not guilty which was accepted. As I was leaving the judge saw all my documentation which I learned later is a big no no with judges and asked if Mr. Dave would like to show us something?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As tempting as it was to show the injustice I said no your honor and got the puck out of there.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;7.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Water pump broke stranding my car in a lane of traffic.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I quickly had a flatbed tow truck at the scene pulling my car up on the truck bed when officer "give Dave a hard time"  flashed his lights and had me go over to his window for a chat.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As he was explaining how he could ticket me for blocking traffic and that I would need to have the car towed as soon as possible, I was thinking maybe I should tell office "give Dave a hard time" that the tow truck driver was confused since he was dropping it off vs picking it up.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Realizing it was the same officer that gave me the reckless driving ticket I told him that I would will be towed.  I just thanked my lucky stars that we had such a crack pot police force protecting us.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;8. Call in from central security regarding an alarm at our business.  I called the police officer to report the crime.  Officer told me it would be a 2-3 hours response time. I complained saying our business is being burglarized.  Police officer said get in line as 5 other business had called in for that area.  I said WTF.  They said on going gun shoot outs currently going on through out the city had most officers pinned down and rest were confronting robberies but burglaries where at the bottom of the list.  With that kind of logic I must agree and agree to get the puck out of CA.&lt;/p&gt;9.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;DUI offense where he said I failed the sobriety test and strong smell of alcohol, blew&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;only a .01.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This was documented under “Oh Please Let Me Be Drunk, Dad”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Heading East when a lady driving West makes a left turn in front of me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;With cat like reflexes I changed lanes keeping the car in a controlled skid only to be broad sided by another lady that apparently was following the first lady that made a left.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I thought this was an open and shut case on whose fault it was, wrong.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Officer talks to the lady that hit me for about 20 min then comes over to me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I knew I was in trouble when he starts off with “The way I see how it happened”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Apparently the lady said that I was traveling at a high rate of speed and warped in out of no where and had lost control of my car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She was only trying to avoid the accident when she made the left turn into.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;As he was writing up his report I could tell my explanation was “ya what ever” as the lady standing by her crumpled car was crying and sobbing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As luck would have it which I don’t get often, a witness said he saw the whole thing and would testify what he saw.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Officer quickly tore off the citation had me sign a report that closely match how I saw the assault on my car.    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;11.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Driving down a 4 lane road in CA when I see 3 cop cars around some poor soul’s car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I look at my speed of 55mph in a 55mph zone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stared at it for about half a mile to make sure I didn’t coast up in speed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Next thing I knew cop cars are speeding after me, all three of them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;First thing they told me was that I was traveling at a high rate of speed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I learned later that this is standard practice to accuse and try to get you to admit your guilt if you were guilty.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My four year old Ashley helps out the situation with “Daddy why were you speeding?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I went for it by going on the offensive with asking them could I see the radar.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They said they were pacing me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I asked how that could be since I was a half a mile ahead of them they had to travel at a high rate of speed to catch me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They make me wait the usually 10 min as my plates came back clean and gave me a verbal warning for speeding. sigh&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;12.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Wife is pulling out of a rest stop when one of the kids pops up out of seat to go get a book in the back of the van.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As soon as he popped up out of his seatbelt an unmarked officer pulls wife over for child endangerment, which is a misdemeanor.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So besides a large fine we now have to get a lawyer and go before a judge for 10 sec of Gunnar unbuckling his seatbelt. Had she been 8 more miles down the road she would have been out of Barney Fief’s county and in a normal county where it is a simple moving violation, mail in fine.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;13.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Pulled over for missing headlight story under “Oh by the way” light out on passenger side.&lt;/p&gt;14. See cop car on a side street had a funny feeling with it so I zipped down the street pulling off on a side street, carefully minding my speed as I see him pull on to the main street.  40 sec later lights are flashing after me.  I look down at my 20mph speed in a 20 and I am thinking what this time.  Make s me wait a full 20 min before coming up to the window.  "Sir I clocked you at 40mph back there"  Being in a pissed off mood I countered with could I see the radar"  Response was that he didn't have to.  I countered with on yes he does in Kansas and I would be bringing that up in court.  He went back to his car then came back to report that the radar had lost the reading but I had been speeding and was that pizza he smelled in the car.  I am trying to grasp what he is saying such as if I give him a slice of pizza he goes away. He says some more stuff that I really wasn't paying attention until he gets to the part of have a nice evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. I am minding my own business following a pickup truck and make a left turn as I am heading to work.  Next thing a I know a Copper has lights and siren a blazing. I pull over for him to pass but damn it he stops behind me.  He seems pretty pissed off as he asked if I was just trying to kill myself?  I give a puzzled look of WTF.  He says he could cite me for reckless driving, signaling for only 90' feet vs 100', tail gating, speeding, and driving to close to the center line.  My only response was and you can do that, I am on a bicycle.  He gave me the lecture and multiple warnings.  He claimed to have had clocked me going close to 40mph on the bicycle. sigh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. I am coming off of work parking lot when my rear view mirror is filled with flashing lights.  I am thinking what now?  Comes up to let me know that one of my brake lights is brighter on the left than on the right.  I said but they are working correct.  He says yes. Goes back to his car for 5min before coming back.  Says my cars license plate is out of compliance because the county that it is in does not match where we are now.  I am thinking ya just like the other 15,000 cars of students that have out of state tags.  I explain that I register it where I live.  He argues that is where you work is where it should be registered.  I told him I would see him in court.   He says he is just letting me know and that I need to get it fixed.  I swear cops need better things to do than verify if tag is registered in correct county.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.  Going on X-mas vacation.  Apparently I left one of our cars on the street while we're gone as when I got back it was gone.  I call the cops but they said they knew nothing of it but before I report it stolen to call the tow companies.  I asked if the city had a policy on how long you could park and they said city did have one but did not enforced it unless there was a complaint.  I called the wrecker and sure enough they had it.  Apparently the Kansas HiPo was cruising around city streets and saw my car on X-mas and had it towed since apparently the state has a maximum 72hr  that overrides the city if the city does not have a policy.  Couldn't wait until the next time they called for a donation and I could say I already gave my $72.00 to the tow truck, Merry Christmas to you too!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Note: &lt;/span&gt;I am of German decent, born in &lt;st1:state st="on"&gt;Iowa&lt;/st1:state&gt;, raised in &lt;st1:state st="on"&gt;Kansas&lt;/st1:state&gt; but in CA many cops mistook my &lt;st1:state st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Kansas&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:state&gt; accent as one who came from the South of the Border.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1760470074984295353?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1760470074984295353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1760470074984295353' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1760470074984295353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1760470074984295353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/12/encounters-with-law.html' title='Encounters with the law'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3121496954939530495</id><published>2007-12-28T13:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T14:53:56.479-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you own a red car???</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I was in the kitchen playing short order cook to the 12 family members over X-mas break when the doorbell rings.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Dad, there is a policeman here that needs to talk to you.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I look out the window and sure enough it’s a Copper in my driveway and my son and red car are gone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As I go to the door I am praying that the first words are not “We have your son.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As luck would have it, he asked if I owned a red car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Apparently he thought it was disabled as it was hanging out in the street and cars had to drive around it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I gave a deer in head lights look when he said jump in the car and let’s go move it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am thinking great, drunken son abandoned the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We drive the 500 feet to the spot only to see it parked where he normally parks it when he sees his aunt.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I look at the officer who quickly points out that there is a maximum of 18 in rule from the curb.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I shut up and thank him for the ride since I did not think a comment like guys always think it longer than it is.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I measured the distance it was a solid 19in from the curb.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Thank goodness our police force is put to good use.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3121496954939530495?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3121496954939530495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3121496954939530495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3121496954939530495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3121496954939530495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/12/do-you-own-red-car.html' title='Do you own a red car???'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-567284097882124503</id><published>2007-12-17T09:10:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T11:49:12.585-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What you can't see can still smell like ....</title><content type='html'>It was Saturday morning and I was trying to catch up on sleep when wife comes in at 6:00am to report that the dogs and squirted diarrhea all over the floors.  Somehow trying to go back to sleep with that image in my head didn’t work.  I did manage to let my wife have a 1hr head start on the project though.  I went in to the dinning room expecting the worse but pleasantly noticed no fecal matter.  I was about ready to say good job when the smell hit me.  Ya my wife said, “It smells like shit in here”.  Puzzled because I couldn’t see anything on the floor.  It wasn’t until the sun started shining in and my new angle of look that I could see where she had cleaned up the smears.  The whole floor now was coated with a thin layer of dried fecal matter.  I guess a Swifer Mop just smears instead of clean when it comes to diarrhea.  I tried using the tried and true mop and bucket but some how at this point of fecal hardening, its still existed in spots, I just can’t see it.  I am now reduced over the next few days on crawling around on the floor sniffing every inch. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-567284097882124503?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/567284097882124503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=567284097882124503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/567284097882124503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/567284097882124503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/12/what-you-cant-see-can-still-smell-like.html' title='What you can&apos;t see can still smell like ....'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-795035938429079649</id><published>2007-12-17T08:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T15:18:12.039-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Only Experience Drivers need apply.</title><content type='html'>Joe had started off to work in his car but returning saying the 2inches of ice was to hazardous for him to drive and to call work telling them he couldn’t make it in.  Wife respond with “Nothing doing.  What you need is an experience driver to drive you in, mommy will take you.” So off they go but instead of taking his car he suggested taking dad's.  Good move on his part.  So off they go down the hill toward the traffic circle.  At about 150 feet before the circle of death, wife noticed she is traveling at normal speed of 25mph.  She hits the breaks but locked wheels on ice becomes the sleigh ride from hell. Both Joe and my wife start screaming like in Lampoons Chevy Chases in Christmas Vacation as they slide down the hill.  When they reached the circle my wife cranks the wheels hard left for maximum damage.  Through the circle they slide until they slam into the curb, coming to a rest  partially in the neighbors yard.  Axel is now bent, rim is now bent, tire now will not hold air.  Wife’s comment to me was “Your car doesn’t drive very well now”. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-795035938429079649?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/795035938429079649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=795035938429079649' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/795035938429079649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/795035938429079649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/12/only-experience-drivers-need-apply.html' title='Only Experience Drivers need apply.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-6623811559439579309</id><published>2007-11-29T21:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T21:06:41.340-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Didn't know a car would start while in 1st gear</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I am coming down the driveway for the evening paper when I noticed Joe walking toward me, gaping hole in front bumper of car and a pile of bricks from the mail box.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;First thing he says is “Dad guess what happened?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  My response was&lt;/span&gt; yes I have brick glue and no you can not buff that out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-6623811559439579309?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/6623811559439579309/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=6623811559439579309' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6623811559439579309'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6623811559439579309'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/11/didnt-know-car-would-start-while-in-1st.html' title='Didn&apos;t know a car would start while in 1st gear'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8651552920284469936</id><published>2007-11-29T20:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T20:56:49.171-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Math Photographic Memory</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It was another typical night of father son doing math homework.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;These were cherished times to remember.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These were particularly time consuming problems that I was working up on the white board.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They were 12 problems of solving simultaneous equations.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After 90min of work I come back from the board to see how Joe was doing only to see no work written down for the last 90 min.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I asked WTF, response was something about he thought I would write it down later.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Ya like I have photographic memory! 2hrs later at 1:30am I’m finally done re doing all the work again.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8651552920284469936?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8651552920284469936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8651552920284469936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8651552920284469936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8651552920284469936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/11/math-photographic-memory.html' title='Math Photographic Memory'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4743575601387737503</id><published>2007-11-29T20:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T20:49:48.441-08:00</updated><title type='text'>X-mas Lights Bulls eye</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It was time for the yearly hang X-mas lights.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I did the standard 60 min of untangling the previous year lights.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Being outside I didn’t want one of the kids running over the lights so I neatly wound them up like a garden hose.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As I was coming back out of the garage I hear Gunnar yells to his friend “hey watch this” as he launches his kick ball in the sky.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will have to give him 10 for form, 10 for height and 10 for accuracy for hitting the coiled lights dead center.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4743575601387737503?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4743575601387737503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4743575601387737503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4743575601387737503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4743575601387737503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/11/x-mas-lights-bulls-eye.html' title='X-mas Lights Bulls eye'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-5064193418152902083</id><published>2007-11-29T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T11:50:36.118-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Frebreez is not BBQ Sauce</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I come home starving for dinner only to find the wife grilling chicken breasts in Curlys hickory smoked BBQ sauce.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are to die for on a toasted bun with sharp shedder cheese.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stand guarding these beauties until I hear the words of “Honey please fix up the sandwiches”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No problem, I scoop up the chicken and start preparing the sandwiches.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As it is no one is standing in line so the first one has my name on it especially since I probably lost 3 pounds while waiting. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;As I am making my sandwich instead of smelling the once sweet hickory BBQ I smell more of clothes freshener.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I fight off the odd smell coming from my taste of heaven and layer on the cheese.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Once again the smell starts to smell much stronger like Frebreez.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I sniff my shirt cuff which seems to be the source of freshnes since BBQ doesn’t taste like Frebreeze.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Sandwich&lt;/st1:place&gt; complete.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I took a big bite of heaven only to be met with an initial strong taste of Frebreeze.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I fight through the Frebreeze taste looking for the BBQ taste.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Finally I release, my lips are on fire, my eyes are watering.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I spit the sandwich out and start splashing water all over my face.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I look at my wife with swollen red lips and said WTF.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Apparently when I installed the new Frebreez air freshener which is about 100 times more concentrated then normal Frebreeze, I installed it upside down which soaked a sponge and tongs.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The sponge was used on the cutting board and the tongs were used to remove the meat.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I just stood there looking at my once proud sandwich in the sink bubbling with foam as I washed it down the drain.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Wife hands be a bag of carrots and says here’s supper.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-5064193418152902083?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/5064193418152902083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=5064193418152902083' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5064193418152902083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/5064193418152902083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/11/frebreez-is-not-bbq-sauce.html' title='Frebreez is not BBQ Sauce'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-7564361879139299001</id><published>2007-11-08T14:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T14:49:57.173-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Soccer Ball, privates, &amp; rolling chair.</title><content type='html'>I say it was all in fair play, kick the soccer ball as hard as you can at a male’s private.  So I was busy working on the computer in the basement with Molly and Gunnar honing their soccer skills in the other room.  Next thing I hear is “Don’t be such a baby and kick the ball at me” I hear a loud thud and Molly saying “ I didn’t mean to kick you there” I look over to see Gunnar going to hulk mode.  I scream for Molly to run to me.  As Gunnar is righting himself he starts justifying his future actions with “She kicked me in the privates” Like a Line Backer coming in on a Quarterbacks’s blind side he races across the room toward Molly.  Being the athlete that I am, I push off the desk on my roller chair for the block.  He hits me like a ton of bricks and we spin off into the wall.  With me hanging on to him he tares out again after Molly who is running around the room.  You would think my weight on the rolling chair he was dragging around would have slowed him down but it didn’t’.  I was in for a wild ride as he was dragging me and the chair from one wall to the next chasing poor Molly while banging into tables chairs and anything else in the way.  Finally  Molly found the door to the stairs and disappeared upstairs.  Thank goodness he is only 7.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-7564361879139299001?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/7564361879139299001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=7564361879139299001' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7564361879139299001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7564361879139299001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/11/soccer-ball-privates-rolling-chair.html' title='Soccer Ball, privates, &amp; rolling chair.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8602663533446563092</id><published>2007-10-21T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T19:42:59.628-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Car brakes failed</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I get the call that every dad loves to hear at work, “Dad I was in a car accident.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Her version was that the brakes were old and didn’t stop in time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I asked here were she was and she reported she was at the mechanics.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I told her that for that kind of boo boo you need a body shop.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Mechanics there told me that she should not drive it as the damaged radiator had no fluid in it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hard concept to convey to my daughter who responded that it still drove.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ca Ching $1,000 deductible.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8602663533446563092?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8602663533446563092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8602663533446563092' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8602663533446563092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8602663533446563092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/10/car-brakes-failed.html' title='Car brakes failed'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1728138808594942379</id><published>2007-10-21T19:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T19:36:56.325-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MIA Wheel cowlings</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Ashley had her new used car for only 3 weeks when I noticed that the front wheel well cowlings were missing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not parts of it but both wheel wells were completely gone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I asked her WTF happened.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Her response was “well dad we were driving down the road behind this truck when “something” flew off and we ran over it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My friend asked if that loud impact noise was serious but I told her I think we are fine.”&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;This is one of those stories that you get the real story 20 years later because for the life of me, I can not figure out what you could run over that would rip both wheel cowlings out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1728138808594942379?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1728138808594942379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1728138808594942379' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1728138808594942379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1728138808594942379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/10/mia-wheel-cowlings.html' title='MIA Wheel cowlings'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-7088957957861179066</id><published>2007-10-21T19:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T12:50:29.138-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Missing wiper blade but other one still works</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I am not saying women and cars don’t mix, I am saying the women in my house and cars don’t mix.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My wife reports that the wiper blade flew off while in use leaving only the bare metal which was scraping across the windshield.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I asked why didn’t you turn it off.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Response it was still raining and the other wiper worked.  Needless to say that I now have  a nice scratch across the windshield.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sigh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-7088957957861179066?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/7088957957861179066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=7088957957861179066' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7088957957861179066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7088957957861179066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/10/missing-wiper-blade-but-other-one-still.html' title='Missing wiper blade but other one still works'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-6686830318304519558</id><published>2007-10-21T19:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T19:43:35.415-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Door Bell Ashley needs sleep</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Same old story, no sleep but tonight I made it to bed by 11:00.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;11:05 door bell rings non-stop.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I throw on my pants and take Duke the guard dog to the door.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I crack open the door, keeping my right hands on the door just in case.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;With out words Ashley ducks under my arm and enters.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In the 4 seconds it takes to get the dog back in and door lock, I hear my bedroom door shut.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am then thinking, “What just happened here???”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I open the bedroom door to ask WTF, my wife throws me a pillow and says, “Ashley needs some good sleep and they are partying at her house”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Arrrgghh&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-6686830318304519558?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/6686830318304519558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=6686830318304519558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6686830318304519558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6686830318304519558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/10/door-bell-ashley-needs-sleep.html' title='Door Bell Ashley needs sleep'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-6783593855329083713</id><published>2007-09-02T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-02T07:38:01.021-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashley has not left the bed</title><content type='html'>I am writing this more for me to document the craziness of it all.  Getting into bed when the phone rings,  "Dad, I feel sick, please come get me."  I get her home and by the time I make it back to getting in bed I notice my spot has been replaced with her.  And more recently when I wake up, I never know if it is her or my wife.  I can never make fun of people that still have their kids sleeping with them at age 3 as mine is approaching 20. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-6783593855329083713?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/6783593855329083713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=6783593855329083713' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6783593855329083713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6783593855329083713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/09/ashley-has-not-left-bed.html' title='Ashley has not left the bed'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8097065544299712835</id><published>2007-09-02T07:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T21:21:26.376-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gunnar + Gun = SRS</title><content type='html'>Dodged the bullet on this one.  Miss Molly comes running into the house to report Gunnar is showing the neighborhood kids his gun.   Ya, ya that is what boys do.  Then I as was thinking what play gun did he have that would draw such a big crowd Molly repeats again, "Dad he has the shotgun out there!"  Great all I need is a 7yr old showing off his brothers shotgun to the kids.   Joe gets the gun back and amazing nobody reported back to their parents and no police or SRS.  Dodged one as this could have been a real entertaining blog entry.   If anyone reports this, I will deny it all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8097065544299712835?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8097065544299712835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8097065544299712835' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8097065544299712835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8097065544299712835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/09/gunnar-gun-srs.html' title='Gunnar + Gun = SRS'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-6132589387852142494</id><published>2007-08-08T15:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T21:35:51.050-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who has gotta leave?</title><content type='html'>One day my wife brings home a Rat Terrier Dog someone had given her as the dog was homeless.  I thought it was for training my lab dogs for retrieval, wrong.  Any way everyone loves the dog which is getting lots of attention.  Then I get the ultimatim question from the college age daughter Ashley, “Either the dog leaves or I am out of here!”  What? Is this a trick question or what?   Wife gives the dog away before I could answer. Sigh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley if you read this, Daddy still loves you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-6132589387852142494?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/6132589387852142494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=6132589387852142494' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6132589387852142494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/6132589387852142494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/08/who-has-gotten-to-leave.html' title='Who has gotta leave?'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4619374256977203538</id><published>2007-08-08T12:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T12:40:08.841-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pass the Ketchup Plz</title><content type='html'>Eating steak is a religious occasion around our house.  I try and pick a night where all my kids are out or I fill them up on healthy hotdogs before the steak is served.  Tonight I had some NY strips.  Grain fed, Angus, Choice quality or 12.99 a pound.  There was my wife, Joe and myself to divide up the spread.  I carefully marinated the steaks in my special sauce in a vacuum container for 3 hours in the fridge.  Steaks were grilled in butter to perfection.  I was taking off the steaks when  in swings my daughter Ashley who says, “what’s cooking” I mutter nothing you would like only to hear her grabbing a plate and swiftly slide 1 of 3 steaks to the plate.  What ever, I divide the other 2 steaks between the rest of us.  After the prayer we started digging in only to her Ashley ask for ketchup.  I explain to her that ketchup is only for bad tasting steak and that her $13.00 steak in a wine steak juice sauce I made, did not need ketchup.  She responds with a cup of ketchup smothering the steak. Six bites later she is done and leaves.  My beautiful steak is dead in a sea of ketchup. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4619374256977203538?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4619374256977203538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4619374256977203538' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4619374256977203538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4619374256977203538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/08/pass-ketchup-plz.html' title='Pass the Ketchup Plz'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-7501654684907827779</id><published>2007-06-07T10:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T11:04:52.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where is the Dog's Bark Collar</title><content type='html'>Duke the yellow lab now has to wear a bark collar that we take off at night.  For some reason I had to put it on the Golden Retriever who has long hair.  Next day, Sat, I can't find the collar.  Damn kids I blame but still no collar.  I check to make sure I had taken it off Duke, no collar.  Sunday all day looking, no collar.  Monday no collar, wife spent a day looking.  Monday night I am out playing with the dogs and there it was on the Golden retriever.  She has long hair and anyone in my condition could have missed it.  I still maintain with the wife that I took it off and one of the kids put it back on.  Damn kids, Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-7501654684907827779?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/7501654684907827779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=7501654684907827779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7501654684907827779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/7501654684907827779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/06/where-is-dogs-bark-collar.html' title='Where is the Dog&apos;s Bark Collar'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4122436680918431760</id><published>2007-06-07T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T10:58:48.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One person in the batting cage PLEASE!!!!</title><content type='html'>Molly, Gunnar and myself were out for our daily batting practice.  We do tee work in the net first before going to the cages.  Some how we were in the “beat the holy crap out of each other with a baseball bat mode.”  First one was when Gunnar handed the bat over to Miss Molly handle first and she “somehow” knocked the batt back striking him the cheek bone, nothing makeup can’t hide.  Then Gunnar was swinging his bat around and I ran into it with my left wrist.  Swelling wasn’t too bad, only the size of a small golf ball.  Then we headed over to the batting cages.  I was in the one next to Molly giving her constructive instructions.  Unknowns to me, Gunnar slipped into the batting cage I was in and starting taking full cuts to time the pitches that were going to Molly.  One of those full cuts came around and generated a home run ringing sound off of my right wrist that quickly swelled up to the size of a tennis ball and became stiff.  So there I was driving home with Gunnar with a bruised face and me with each wrist on fire from the swelling.  Might have to pass on starting the traditional family hunting trips for a couple of maturing years.  Did I mention his full cut swings generate in the Park home runs at his little league games.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4122436680918431760?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4122436680918431760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4122436680918431760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4122436680918431760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4122436680918431760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/06/one-person-in-batting-cage-please.html' title='One person in the batting cage PLEASE!!!!'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-8824485453394427723</id><published>2007-05-31T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T07:35:21.477-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gunnar and the true purpose of sliding shorts.</title><content type='html'>This is a Grandma story so I can only assume its true.  Gunnar 7, was going to his first baseball game.  He was playing in the league and at this level they used the pitching machine.  To look the part 6 hours before game time he was in full uniform pants, socks, cleats, shirt, hat and elastic sliding shorts.  He was serious and meant business.  As Grandma was looking over his uniform she couldn’t help noticing the white elastic shorts so she asked him what those pants were for.  Without  missing a beat and a serious look of “come on Grandma” he responded, “They are for keeping the Girls out” She didn’t go any further with the questioning, enough said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May have to move up the Father/Son talk sooner than I thought.  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-8824485453394427723?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/8824485453394427723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=8824485453394427723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8824485453394427723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/8824485453394427723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/05/gunnar-and-true-purpose-of-sliding.html' title='Gunnar and the true purpose of sliding shorts.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-4076320656653262163</id><published>2007-05-31T07:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T07:28:48.705-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Joe's Homework or is it Dad's???</title><content type='html'>It was the normal screaming session of Joe vs Math and Dad.  Things ended in the typical fashion of I am too tired why don’t you work out a few examples for me to look at in the morning.  Being the good Dad I worked out most the problems but in a scribble manner on the backs of other worksheets.  Enough detail that he should be able to figure out the problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two days later I am sitting across the table and Parent/Teacher conference going over Joe’s math progress.  Out of the blue the teacher pulls out from the middle of the stack a papers something that looks familiar.  Yes the scribble I had done a few days earlier was apparently handed in as homework.  I can not remember what I said to weasel out of that hot seat conversation but I promised myself never again would I work out the problems.  On a happier note when I told the teacher I hadn’t had Geometry for 30 years and wasn’t sure I had explained it correctly, the teacher did say that I had done an excellent job and had a clear understanding of the material. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-4076320656653262163?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/4076320656653262163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=4076320656653262163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4076320656653262163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/4076320656653262163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/05/joes-homework-or-is-it-dads.html' title='Joe&apos;s Homework or is it Dad&apos;s???'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-2636212060157574760</id><published>2007-02-28T12:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-28T12:20:32.318-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dad's memory is like a steel trap</title><content type='html'>My theory is that years of raising kids can take a toll on ones health and memory.  It was an exciting day, a day of shopping at Sam’s.  As usually when you go in they ask for your card.  Being the dedicated shopper I always have my card on top so as not to hold up the line.  I send the wife and kids over to the snack bar while I did the shopping.  It is amazing the more people you take the higher the bill.  I had my shopping list of cheese and another $300 of spontaneous got to have its and head for the checkout.  I open my wallet to present my card and nothing.  I panic as I am slapping all my pockets trying to find it.  I am starting to get looks from people in line.  Cashier makes announcement for lost card but nothing.  I have to head over to the customer service to get a new card.  20 min later I have my new card and I am back in line.  Just then the lovely wife saddles up next to me and says, “Here is your card back” I asked in disbelief where in the hell did you get that from.  From you honey, you handed it me.  I might have as well handed her a $100 bill, no recollection of doing it or why I did it.  Sigh.  Crap where are my keys?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-2636212060157574760?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/2636212060157574760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=2636212060157574760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2636212060157574760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2636212060157574760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/02/dads-memory-like-steel-trap.html' title='Dad&apos;s memory is like a steel trap'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-803612531108766726</id><published>2007-02-23T08:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T08:28:07.623-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What crawled up and died</title><content type='html'>We had our NetFlix DVD for about 2 weeks because there was never time to watch but tonight was special.  Joe was at a friends house and the 2 little ones were at a sleep over which just left me and the wife for self entertainment.  It was 10:38pm, wife had just made a perfect bowl of popcorn.  Had my coke with perfect slush ice in a frosty mug.  Movie was starting and I had to make the comment to my wife, “I can’t believe Ashley hasn’t called today.”  Swear to God 10 seconds later my cell phone rings.  It’s Ashley and she needs a ride home.  Something about she is locked out of her dorm room and her roommate wouldn’t wake up and let her in.  I swear I had sent her off to College.  Anyway on the ride home she start describing her dumps in the toilet being black with a smell that would peel paint off the wall.  Some where while listening to this educational discussion of the gastrica workings I smell something that was dead.  Cleaning up vomit had no affect on my gag reflexes but this was something of rotten dead meat.  Something must have crawled up there and died.  I had to finish the trip home with my head hanging out the window like a dog trying not to lose it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get settle back onto the couch and started the movie.  10 min into the movie I see my daughter crawling on the floor in front of the TV but she is lifting her leg for 5 sec like a male dog every 4-5 feet.  I am thinking WTF then it hit me.  Both me and the wife have left the house.  Ashley said she had gas and that was the only way she could get rid of it.   How does an evening start with no kids, coke in hand, bowl of popcorn and a DVD movie end of my daughter back home and my wife and I gasping for air outside of our house.  DIDN’T I SEND HER OFF TO COLLEGE??&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-803612531108766726?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/803612531108766726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=803612531108766726' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/803612531108766726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/803612531108766726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/02/what-crawled-up-and-died.html' title='What crawled up and died'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3003348639716723236</id><published>2007-02-21T20:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T21:44:23.186-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't scratch</title><content type='html'>This is still part of the story where daughter Ashley spent 48 hours in my bed.  During a brief moment of conscience she asked me to check her fever.  Being the caring father that I was I obliged.  Now I didn’t have my glasses on so my judging distance was off. When I touched her forehead it was more of a tap.  Her reaction was that of crocs jaw come slamming down.  With a scream she dug her nails deeply into my forearm before the slow and methodical rake across.  This was not an unusual pain for me as I sometimes get that if the wife is not receptive that night but this seemed to be doing a lot of bleeding.  Ya like 20 min worth as I kept pressure on it.  That was 9 months ago and I still have the scaring of a rapist.  When I tell people that all I did was touch her forehead, I get a lot of weird looks with a follow up question of “and where else”   She claims she was asleep and doesn’t remember a thing but all I know is now I have 3 scars across my arm now.  Didn’t she go off to college???&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3003348639716723236?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3003348639716723236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3003348639716723236' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3003348639716723236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3003348639716723236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-dont-scratch.html' title='I don&apos;t scratch'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-1451732035580749596</id><published>2007-02-21T09:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T21:18:20.707-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No sickness here unless you count stomache flu</title><content type='html'>Every year we vote on who will not get sic and be the designated clean up vomit person.  I am that person every year.  Wife always has this notion that if you provide a vomit bowl that it will be used.  With that in mind she places Gunnar on the couch with bowl on floor.  I being the experienced vomit cleaner upper will tell you that is great in theory but you need to cover the coach and all the crevices.  First blowing he managed to cover all three cushions and 6 crevices that went deep in the couch.  Cleaning the tops of cushions after picking up  the chunks was relatively easy.  It was trying to get that that went down in the cracks in the back of the coach but hey being an expert and 2 hours later the project was done.  All I need to do now was dry them out.  Strategically I laid them out on and next to the luv seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy Gunnar not wanting to miss Ranger Walker parked himself later that day in the luv seat.  30 min later he blew not only all over the luv seat but on each vaulting of liquid hit all the cushions that I   had just cleaned plus arm rests plus carpet.  I had a thought on how to get rid of the massive chunks but it would have involved 2 hungry dogs.  Next time, next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same old same old, Molly goes to my bed, sits up and does her number all over blankets, Joe does a number on his sleeping bag. Wife actually used the toilet.  College girl misses and covers toilet in green something and sets up camped out for 48hrs in my bed.   I have asked this before but DIDN’T SHE GO OFF TO COLLEGE????&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-1451732035580749596?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/1451732035580749596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=1451732035580749596' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1451732035580749596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/1451732035580749596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/02/no-sickness-here-unless-you-count.html' title='No sickness here unless you count stomache flu'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-2072061427767714806</id><published>2007-02-21T09:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T09:27:55.848-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's calling please???</title><content type='html'>Really need some sleep, going to bed at 1:30am.  Ringgggg Ringggg 2:28am daughter calling in to report that phone was dropped in toilet.  Ringggg,   Ringggggg 2:35am wants to know if she can trade out her phone with wife’s?  NO        Ring ring ring, 2:45am will they replace her phone with same model?  WTF?  are you for real its 2:45AM in the morning.  DIDN’T SHE GO OFF TO COLLEGE???&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-2072061427767714806?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/2072061427767714806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=2072061427767714806' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2072061427767714806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/2072061427767714806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/02/whos-calling-please.html' title='Who&apos;s calling please???'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-3371964602502893310</id><published>2007-02-21T09:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T09:23:50.836-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why are you here?</title><content type='html'>Midnight no sleep night before, must have sleep.  Knock knock, ring ring ring doorbell 1:30am.  Daughter at the door, needs a good night sleep so came home but too tired to use her key. &lt;br /&gt;DIDNT SHE GO OFF TO COLLEGE????&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-3371964602502893310?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/3371964602502893310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=3371964602502893310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3371964602502893310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/3371964602502893310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2007/02/why-are-you-here.html' title='Why are you here?'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116585305891140035</id><published>2006-12-11T08:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-11T11:46:44.540-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Run away cart</title><content type='html'>I am pulling into Target and luck be with me I have a premo spot at the front of the store but as I am pulling in I notice that there is a cart in the front of the stall.  If I pull all the way in, I should be okay.  Plan is to pull in until I barely tap the cart.  All is going well as I barely tap it.  But then I notice that the carts front end is now slow swing out.  Surely there is not enough slope for that thing to start rolling down hill.  Oh there is slope and it is starting to pick up speed.  Like in a horror film where the victim realizes he must get out of the car fast or be eaten, I throw it into park and frantically fumble with the seat belt that seems to be stuck.  Cart is now 4 stalls away from broad siding some Cadillac.  Finally I am out and racing wait no hobbling because of the slightly sprained ankle.  Fighting through the pain I over take the cart stopping it short 5' from impact.  I sort of expected a cheer or clapping from the spectators but most likely they were thinking WTF why was that old fat man in a polo fleece jacket racing across the parking lot for.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116585305891140035?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116585305891140035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116585305891140035' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116585305891140035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116585305891140035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/run-away-cart.html' title='Run away cart'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116585235624453089</id><published>2006-12-11T07:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T19:54:41.930-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Game of Chinese fire drill.</title><content type='html'>My wife and I am sure all wives have their red button.  With mine it’s calling her by her mothers name and a helpful critique comment.  If pushed, my life is hell for the next few hours.  So normally she will not drive the car with me in it since some where down the line I will push the button with helpful comments like “brake, we’re going to die” Today she was driving because the van was in the shop and the backup was a clutch.  I can’t drive a clutch due to my sprained ankle.  We get to the 4 way stop and I am carefully monitoring who should go next, 3 cars then us.  Apparently my wife thought no, screw those red necks in the pickup trucks, I am going.  I pushed the button with “your not next” She slammed on the brakes and threw in the emergency brake.  Her comment was “I am not driving” I thought well this can’t be good especially with 20 cars behind us, 5 o’clock traffic.  She proceeds to get out of the car and comes around to my side.  The thought of an angry 5'o clock traffic mob motivated me to get out with my sprained ankle.  With the athleticism of a running back that has just pulled his Achilles tendon in full stride, I hop around the front of the car propping myself on the hood as I go.  I throw myself butt first into the driver's seat but like normal my wife has left the seat 6" from the steering wheel.  I am knocked back out onto my sprained ankle.  I collapsed like sack of potatoes.  From the ground I move the seat back and pull myself in.  As I am driving off I was amazed that nobody honked at me but then again they were probably wondering if there was a part II to the show.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116585235624453089?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116585235624453089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116585235624453089' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116585235624453089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116585235624453089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/game-of-chinese-fire-drill.html' title='Game of Chinese fire drill.'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538907651866192</id><published>2006-12-05T23:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T23:11:16.520-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ya right Dad, it is gross</title><content type='html'>Son announces to me that his stool is plugged.  Ya I will get to it later. Besides it was evening and I was tired so off to bed I went.  Next morning son reports that Ashley had come home and even though he told her it was plugged, she did her business.  So my scenario the next morning is plunging brown chunky soup with my faces inches from this delicacy.  Several dry heaves later I am done.  I ask her WTF and I thought you went off to college.  Her comment “Ya it was pretty gross wasn’t it?”  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538907651866192?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538907651866192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538907651866192' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538907651866192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538907651866192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/ya-right-dad-it-is-gross.html' title='Ya right Dad, it is gross'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538841960937673</id><published>2006-12-05T22:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T11:55:02.329-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What goes around comes around</title><content type='html'>I guess the old saying of what goes around comes around is true.  When the kids were growing up, I would play absent minded driver.  There was this stretch of road that ended with a hair pin 15mph curve.  I would pretend to be distracted with the large beautiful houses on the right and not seeing the curve.  The trick was to not start braking until I would hear the screams from the kids and sometimes the wife that we were going to die.  Kids loved this for years.  Well last week son Joe, 16, was driving that same stretch of road and hey if Dad can do it why can’t I.  I was clueless to his thoughts until I noticed no braking action going on.  I shot a quick glance at him only to see a smile on his face.  This only increased the fear factor as I realized what trick he thought he was going to play out.  Scenario is my son of 16 has 28 min of driving experience, 0 min of stunt experience, balled tires and no concept of his speed.  Yes I was convinced this was not good.  He over shot the turn but the anti lock brakes kicked in as the van floated to the outside of the turn.  When I looked over at his face, he was white as a ghost.  Must say I was really impressed with Anti-Lock Brake System.  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538841960937673?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538841960937673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538841960937673' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538841960937673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538841960937673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/what-goes-around-comes-around.html' title='What goes around comes around'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538758974260500</id><published>2006-12-05T22:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T22:46:29.743-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It is not lunch but breakfast</title><content type='html'>I had made an especially good batch of beef stroganoff with steak sauteed onions and mushrooms in a red wine gravy.  The left overs were going to make a great lunch, looking forward to it.  When I get up in the morning a see my lunch with a fork in an empty tupperware container.  I ask the wife WTF?  Oh Ashley spent the night and was hungry.  I don’t get it.  I thought she was off to college.  I see/feel her more now than when she was in High School.  I really am beginning to believe those that say they change door locks when kids leave the house are serious.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538758974260500?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538758974260500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538758974260500' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538758974260500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538758974260500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/it-is-not-lunch-but-breakfast.html' title='It is not lunch but breakfast'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538719071553790</id><published>2006-12-05T22:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T20:01:29.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gum and Dryer do not mix</title><content type='html'>I took pride in keeping our mega washer and dryer in tip top shape.  Not sure what the thought process was but somebody threw in a wad of gum into the dryer and cranked it on high.  You would think it would just be a blob, wrong.  It flung and smeared the whole inside cavity of the drum.  Took 90 min of scrubbing with barely legal chemicals to remove.  Wife’s comment, “I thought that would be a good project for you” No, a good project would be soaking in my jacuzzi and downing a case of beer.  Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538719071553790?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538719071553790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538719071553790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538719071553790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538719071553790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/gum-and-dryer-do-not-mix.html' title='Gum and Dryer do not mix'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538684248668796</id><published>2006-12-05T22:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-28T12:24:06.493-08:00</updated><title type='text'>1 for the money 2 to get ready &amp; 3 for the SHOW</title><content type='html'>One more reason the room should be dark for those intimate moments.  Our house is setup with our bedroom and dining room connecting to the deck.  One morning wife and I were having one of those moments and yes the door was locked.  Apparently the shades were opened enough on the deck that the 2 dogs could see. The two were looking in but big deal, they are dogs.  Wait or is that 3 dogs I see.  No its 2 dogs and Gunnar.  Apparently Gunnar was in the dinning room and was curious why the dogs were looking into our bed room so he joined in on the viewing.   Afterwards as mom was explaining the show to Gunnar, I pretty much left when the explanation turned to trying to explain why daddy was sleeping on top of mom.  And no, amazingly he never spoke of the incident again.  A doctor in the family told us it’s the bodies safety mechanism to block out pyscholgical trauma. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538684248668796?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538684248668796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538684248668796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538684248668796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538684248668796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/1-for-money-2-to-get-ready-3-for-show.html' title='1 for the money 2 to get ready &amp; 3 for the SHOW'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538633140701521</id><published>2006-12-05T22:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T22:25:31.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashley's Luv for her roommates</title><content type='html'>I will say that daughter Ashley does entertain with her phone calls.  One call that I got was garbled, something about pot, smoke and the police came.  Due to the luv she has for her roommates she informed her dorm RA that there was a strange smell coming from her room.  Ya like pot, call the cops.  By the time cops showed up exhaust fans and steamy shower had removed the smell from the room.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538633140701521?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538633140701521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538633140701521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538633140701521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538633140701521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/ashleys-luv-for-her-roommates.html' title='Ashley&apos;s Luv for her roommates'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538604212402130</id><published>2006-12-05T22:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T22:20:42.126-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jacuzzi, beer &amp; a happy wife</title><content type='html'>I had been to the doctor earlier in the day with a twisted ankle.  I was thinking how good it was going to feel in the next 2 hours when I was going to soak in the jacuzzi and down a case of beer.  As I turned on the sink in the kitchen all I got was cold maybe room temp water.  “Ashley”, damn she lives in the dorms, where did she come from?  I didn’t hear the shower running.  I quickly call her on her cell. “Ya dad I took a shower at your house but the water pressure was low so the shower took longer”.  Ya longer until the 50gal water tank was empty.  No jacuzzi, no beer, and no loose wife that night.  Again I thought I had sent her off to college. &lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538604212402130?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538604212402130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538604212402130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538604212402130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538604212402130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/jacuzzi-beer-happy-wife.html' title='Jacuzzi, beer &amp; a happy wife'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538560571093530</id><published>2006-12-05T21:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T22:13:25.730-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Open the car door please</title><content type='html'>This is why I  fear auto shutting car doors.  Everyone was piling in but a apparently Molly decided that she was not going to let Gunnar get in on her side to cross over.  So while they are having an intelligent debate on his request, unbeknownst to Gunnar Granny had started the automatic door closer.  So there he is standing outside of the Van with his hand shut in the door.  I don’t think he contemplated the situation fully until mom heard his faint pleas of “my hand”.  Pandemonium broke out as everyone was screaming for Grandma to open the door.  Grandma not understanding the random screams only froze in the act.  I think at this point Gunnar realized this might not turn out good with his hand disappearing in the shut door.  Finally someone got the door open.  Fortunately he only wore crease marks on his hand, nothing broke.  His comment was only “WHAT TOOK SO LONG!!”  If this had happened to his sister Molly, we would been in ER. Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538560571093530?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538560571093530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538560571093530' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538560571093530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538560571093530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/open-car-door-please.html' title='Open the car door please'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116538468405110224</id><published>2006-12-05T21:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T21:59:00.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Your hair seems fuller to night</title><content type='html'>Typical 14 hour day for me at work.  I took a nice hot shower and knowing that the wife had just put on clean flannel sheets decided no PJs tonigh, that’s right the buff.  As I slid into bed I noticed too that the wife had taken a shower, the mood was set.  Just needed to finish a thought and zzzzzz.  After a brief 5 hour resting of the eyes, I started to hold my wife.  Wow the hair seemed fuller and longer and darker and F____!  Its my daughter.  So the story goes that she had been partying and got confused so when my wife left she took her spot in bed.  Lesson learned, never assume the women in your bed is the women you started off with, sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116538468405110224?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116538468405110224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116538468405110224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538468405110224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116538468405110224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/12/your-hair-seems-fuller-to-night.html' title='Your hair seems fuller to night'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116173607838087634</id><published>2006-10-24T17:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T17:27:58.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flag Football, the Safe Sport</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/bolltron/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /&gt;The 6 year old is now into Flag football, a new concept from the backyard tackle with 11 and 15year olds.  It was the first game and he was pumped up.  He had been coached to crash through the line and get the person with the ball.  Quarterback takes the hike, Gunnar is off.   Knocking several kids to the ground he is through the line.  I am screaming “Gunnar get him”.  QB hands off to a girl RB.  Now I scream “Gunnar get her.”  He hits her a drops her like a sack of potatoes.  Crowd starts muttering who was that kid?  Now realizing this wasn’t tackle but a friendly game of touch flag football my chants of “Get her” turn to “ya who was that kid?”  The crying girl is lead off the field holding her arm while Gunnar is getting a talk from the umpire, “Ya who was that kid.”&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116173607838087634?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116173607838087634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116173607838087634' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116173607838087634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116173607838087634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/10/flag-football-safe-sport.html' title='Flag Football, the Safe Sport'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116171637519150888</id><published>2006-10-24T11:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T11:59:35.203-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cliford Notes Please</title><content type='html'>Now I didn’t think this to be unusual but others thought I had lost touch with reality.  Daughter was having trouble with a College Math class so being on Campus already, I started going to the lecturers and taking notes for her.  It’s not like am chauffeuring her around from class to class like her mom, geeez.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116171637519150888?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116171637519150888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116171637519150888' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116171637519150888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116171637519150888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/10/cliford-notes-please.html' title='Cliford Notes Please'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-116171353677631484</id><published>2006-10-24T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T12:46:17.648-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dorm Room Service Please</title><content type='html'>I thought my biggest challenge was getting my HighSchool daughter out of my bed, I was wrong.  Now that she is in college and living the dorm life she has developed new expectations, “DORM SERVICE” please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am heading out for racketball at 10:15pm when my wife gets the “Dorm Service” call.  Tuna sandwich, lite on mayo, lettuce, cheese and black cracked pepper, bag of chips and a chilled diet coke and could you get that here by 10:30pm.  Wife tells me, “Do it.” Sigh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crawling into bed at 12:10am comfy and all when my wife gets the “Dorm Service” call, daughter had to park out in the bad lands parking lot and needs an escort, “Do it.”, she says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:10pm just got home and am enjoying my warmed over dinner when my wife gets the “Dorm Service” call, bring pink shirt for sorority by 8:30, big function, wife says, “Do it”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just settled in with a Chuck Norris show at 11:15pm when “Dorm Service”, laptop is having network problems and paper is due tomorrow.  Ya, ya, I know “Do it.”  And to think she could have gone to another school far away from my house but at least she is not in my bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-116171353677631484?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/116171353677631484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=116171353677631484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116171353677631484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/116171353677631484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/10/dorm-room-service-please.html' title='Dorm Room Service Please'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115821174978810538</id><published>2006-09-13T22:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-13T22:30:13.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No More Pitching from the Knees</title><content type='html'>I now know why they won’t let people over 40 adopt babies.  Kids are too hard on our bodies.  I am 45 and will be 60 when the last ones out.  With 4 kids and their chaos some how I forget about events that are potential injury.  Gunnar was wanting to practice baseball before baseball tryouts.  Did the usually and lug down to the field the net, bucket of balls, bat bag, 20lb hitting tee and started practice.  After successful completing the hitting drills, Gunnar was excited to have live hitting, pitches from the old man.  Soon he was disappointed as it is hard for a 6' person to pitch down to a 6yr old, too much arch.  Remembering from my younger days as a coach, we would pitch from our knees.  Make sense, you are now right at their level.  I backed away 30' feet away from the plate and start pitching.  One after another he smacked fly balls into the out field.  I was really impressed with his swing, the pivot of his hips and the power he was putting on it.  When the ball is sailing high in the air one doesn’t realize how fast it is really traveling, soon for me to find out.  Next pitch I instructed for him to have a more level swing when meeting the ball.  He obliges on the next swing with a line drive up the middle.  My cat like reflexes are replaced with a rigamortis response.  Lucky for me the ball missed my head but slowed down on my ankle then between the legs.  I have been hit down there so many times I was only laid out for 20 seconds.  All I could hear as I slumped over was Gunnar cheering with excitement as if he had won a carnival ride, he was beaming with pride.  Practice was over but I was thinking, next time I will get Joe to pitch on his knees, he is young and he never reads the blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115821174978810538?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115821174978810538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115821174978810538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115821174978810538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115821174978810538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/09/no-more-pitching-from-knees.html' title='No More Pitching from the Knees'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115765162735296931</id><published>2006-09-07T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T10:54:45.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Four in a Bed, no Problem</title><content type='html'>Other than almost dying from Ashley’s driving we make it to Iowa for the reunion.  Wife was not going so that left Molly with the aunt and Joe, Ashley and Gunnar in one room with me.  Turns out instead of 2 queens there was a pullout and one King.  Everyone voted themselves to the King.  Confident that my alpha male qualities would be enough to direct people to their proper beds when the time came, I didn’t give it much thought.  By 9:00pm it was apparent I was in trouble.  Gunnar had already crashed out in the middle of the King and Ashley was lying on the edge.  Joe was just coming out of the shower, the air was tense, I could sense that people were going to realize hey there isn’t enough room for all of us in the King.  I decided not to go to the bathroom and make my move instead.  With the athleticism of a linebacker making a dive on the QB, I cleared Gunnar and most of Ashley, clothes on and all.  Then all hell broke loose, like a mad scramble for a loose football.  With me in a dominate center of the bed position Joe and Ashley quickly claimed the outer edges of the bed.  Pleases, threats and logical arguments had no affect, they were there for the night.   For this arrangement to work I had to sleep/lay on my side with clothes on along with my full bladder.  Ashley about 20min into the ordeal launched a barrage of nasty farts not to be unchallenged with my own volley.  Nobody left and now we all suffered the stench of sweat and farts.  Somehow I feel asleep, I think, but at 2:10am had a strong urge for the bathroom.  With everyone asleep I should be out and back undetected.  I carefully slid myself up and down off the bed undetected.  As I was trying to figure out how I could sleep in my 18" gap of a bed there was a sound of a shift.  Bodies that were once ridged and straight retracted into a fetal position.  My space disappeared, gone.  I was driven off to the in-laws bed, the pullout for the rest of the night. Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115765162735296931?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115765162735296931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115765162735296931' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115765162735296931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115765162735296931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/09/four-in-bed-no-problem.html' title='Four in a Bed, no Problem'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115747077536562466</id><published>2006-09-05T08:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T08:39:35.366-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashley as a Freshman, Studying Late Techniques</title><content type='html'>It was a long weekend and Ashley need a “little” help on math.  That meant, “I didn’t understand the Russian Guy and there is 50 problems due tomorrow.”  The plan was that I would work them out and she could reference my work as she did the problems.  I must have gotten to ingrossed to notice that she had slipped away and had fallen asleep.  Well it was late for a freshman, 3:00am.  This aint highschool anymore, Freshman, Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115747077536562466?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115747077536562466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115747077536562466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115747077536562466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115747077536562466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/09/ashley-as-freshman-studying-late.html' title='Ashley as a Freshman, Studying Late Techniques'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115747052527225071</id><published>2006-09-05T08:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T08:36:02.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashley as a Freshman, Needs Ride</title><content type='html'>Ashley is now in College as a Freshman.  A time where they can focus on there independence from there parents.  I know this as I am reminded all the time from my daughter on how she is so done with us and she is on her own, well when its convenient.  My wife was picking me up to take me up from work at the university to a 9:30 doc appt.  When she picks me up she said she has to pick up our beloved Ashely.  I say for what.  Wife reports that Ashley called her for ride from one building to the next.  By walking a 6 min walk, by car with crosswalk traffic, 15-20min.  Oh and she instructed my wife to by back at 10:30 because she needed a ride to another class. Sigh, Freshman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115747052527225071?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115747052527225071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115747052527225071' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115747052527225071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115747052527225071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/09/ashley-as-freshman-needs-ride.html' title='Ashley as a Freshman, Needs Ride'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115746878192316887</id><published>2006-09-05T08:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T08:06:21.953-07:00</updated><title type='text'>But It Is Not A Double Line</title><content type='html'>Joey, Ashley and myself were on our way to Iowa.  Some how I found my self on the back road, Highway 2 heading East with my daughter driving. This is a hilly area, steep short hills, very hard to pass on.  About 30 min into this near death experience we come across someone doing the speed limit but being a teenager driver this was unacceptable and they must be passed.  As I noticed she was casually moving over into the passing lane at the bottom of the hill, we were passing the “No Passing” sigh.  I scream at her to get back over, she yells back “why?”  I scream with the intensity of we are going to die scream “Get Back Over” As we pull back over I count 3 seconds before I see a white pickup truck cresting the hill coming our way.  I am guessing that had we continued our course of death she would have been maybe half a car length ahead in her pass when we would have confront the other truck 300 feet in front of us or with combined speeds, 2 seconds before impact.  None of my analysis sunk in, she was more focused that the solid yellow line was not double and why couldn’t she have passed.   Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115746878192316887?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115746878192316887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115746878192316887' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115746878192316887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115746878192316887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/09/but-it-is-not-double-line.html' title='But It Is Not A Double Line'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115746771643607454</id><published>2006-09-05T07:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T08:49:27.473-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh Please Let Me Be Drunk, Dad</title><content type='html'>So I was coming home from a friendly drink at the local pub when the sirens lit up behind the soccer van I was driving.  I had only had 2 beers and that was over and hour ago and being a big guy of 250lbs I would have had more of a buzz from a swig of mouth wash than I had right at the moment.&lt;br /&gt;“Sir, have you been drinking?”  Why yes, 2 to be exact.  “I am only asking as I noticed the strong alcohol as I approached the car.”  I am thinking to myself, does this Copper have a nose of a Canine or what?  “Sir please step out of the vehicle, the reason I pulled you over was for a headlight out.”  Common theme for me, headlights out and cops.  As he directs me toward the front of the car I can tell he is watching my natural athletic posture as I walk.  Next thing I hear is “Mike I am going to need backup, I have a big one here” I am thinking please don’t have this end up with me in a fetal position on the ground with a tazer wire sticking out of me.  He gives me the basic touch your nose and watch your eyes as he moves the pen, this is the pre sobriety test.  Keep in mind there are flood lights in the parking lot in front blinding me and I have not had sleep in 3 weeks.  “Sir I am going to fail you on your pre-tests.  You hare having trouble touching your nose, your eyes are bouncing, you have slurred speech and strong alcohol on your breath.”  I tell him that I feel just fine.  He explains that you could drink 1 oz of beer and have a .0005% but fail the test making you impaired under the influence.  He said most likely he was going to have to take me in for being under the influence of alcohol but wanted to wrap it up with the breath analyzer.  As he was giving it to me, I started thinking that it really doesn’t matter what your blood level is but whether you can past the test and if I had already failed the test then my excuse better be alcohol and not just you are inherently to impaired to drive, ever!  Test come back, he has a puzzled look and said, “you are at .01, have a good night sir.”  Ten seconds later, he and his backup are gone leaving me standing there thanking my lucky stars that I had an excuse for failing, alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned, make sure car lights lights work if you are going out drinking. Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115746771643607454?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115746771643607454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115746771643607454' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115746771643607454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115746771643607454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/09/oh-please-let-me-be-drunk-dad.html' title='Oh Please Let Me Be Drunk, Dad'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115427902805247843</id><published>2006-07-30T09:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-04T09:34:07.233-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gunnar 6 yr update</title><content type='html'>Not much of a story but does illustrate the 6yr old has no fear.  Worlds of Fun has a sling were they hoist you up 200 feet into the air and let you drop/swing.  I would rather be administered a double dose of rabe shots before that adventure but he loves it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just finished the  county fair tractor pedal competition coming in 1st.  It came down to him and a big farm girl but he was going to do it because he wanted the trophy.  We are off to state competition later this Fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also got him a 90cc but after the clutch issue with Joe decided we wouldn't try it until he finished 1st grade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115427902805247843?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115427902805247843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115427902805247843' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115427902805247843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115427902805247843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/07/gunnar-6-yr-update.html' title='Gunnar 6 yr update'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115427836694641340</id><published>2006-07-30T09:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-04T09:38:56.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Joe's new 125cc MotorCycle</title><content type='html'>This was Joe's first motorcycle for him, a 125cc 5 speed manual.  Joe had ridden his 6yr old brothers 50cc which is an automatic and did quit well.  In his mind he was one 125cc away from having the skill set of a professional rider.  I got him aimed down out of the driveway and after about 200 kick starts, didn't know where the choke was, we were idling.  Not sure where 1 st gear was, I was going to have to run back in the house and look at the manual.    As I left I said, "Joe keep it idling but do NOT try to shift this thing until I get back."  I run into the house for a mere 30 sec for the shifting info but when I get back there is no Joe and there is no motorcycle.  Not seeing him down the street I scan to my right and see a trail across our yard through our neighbors and a tire skid mark across their driveway followed by a blue skid mark across the driveway.  Joe is coming back with a bloody arm.  I asked him WTF were you thinking?  He said as soon as I closed the door gong into the house he realigned himself for our neighbors house, dropped into first gear, gunned it like they do on TV and let go/popped of the clutch.  Could have been worse, he could not have wiped out and gone through our neighbors garage door for $1,200.  With this show of good judgement he reminded me that mom had just put him on the insurance so he can start driving the '87 manual honda accord.  He assured me that a car’s clutch will be much easier to drive and there will be no further need to drive across our neighbors yard.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115427836694641340?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115427836694641340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115427836694641340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115427836694641340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115427836694641340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/07/joes-new-125cc-motorcycle.html' title='Joe&apos;s new 125cc MotorCycle'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115271264053681145</id><published>2006-07-12T06:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T20:55:41.409-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thinning Down the Gene Pool</title><content type='html'>Its fourth of July and the family is off to see the fireworks at Leawood.  Being that we wanted to avoid the heavy traffic, we decide to park about a mi away at a office building complex.  The parking was nice with grassy knolls between parking areas.  We spread our blankets on one of these patches of grass. Good to go, fireworks started but some of the trees ahead were blocking our view.  We decided to move up closer to the trees so we could see the show.  Kids race forward as I gathered some of our things.  When I started walking forward, I saw to my horror Joe and his cousin had moved forward alright, they had moved onto a 4 lane curb less road.  They were laying out on the blankets with their heads on the pillows all comfy and not.  I screamed “JOE, get out of the road” He turned back to look at me with a puzzled look on his face.  He quickly looked to his right as his plight started sinking in.  He quickly spun to his left only to see the SUV coming in at 40mph.  At this point I might have as well screamed “the Rapters are coming.”  In frantic terrorized manner, he  scooped up blankets and chairs as he barreled rolled off the road.  I asked him WTF were you doing?  He could only say “we almost got hit.”&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115271264053681145?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115271264053681145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115271264053681145' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115271264053681145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115271264053681145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/07/thinning-down-gene-pool.html' title='Thinning Down the Gene Pool'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115214113370497659</id><published>2006-07-05T16:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T21:00:34.238-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diving Team Tryouts</title><content type='html'>Leave it to the older sister Molly 9 to convince Gunnar 6 that he couldn't dive off the "High" diving board at the city pool.   Next thing the sitter notices is a small crowd gathering around the other end of the pool next to the diving boards.  To her horror there was little Gunnar at the end of the High board slowly putting his hands over his head.  He doesn’t know how to dive but is just mimicking what he had seen others do.  Sitter is screaming,"No Don't do it Gunnar!"  But Gunner is too much in diving concentration to hear their pleas. Body falls forward in an outstretched, perfect belly flop formation.  Life guard came running over to see him stunned, face down in the water, slowly moving his arms in attempt to swim.  His only words were "that hurt".  sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115214113370497659?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115214113370497659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115214113370497659' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115214113370497659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115214113370497659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/07/diving-team-tryouts_115214113370497659.html' title='Diving Team Tryouts'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115090346923612176</id><published>2006-06-21T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-21T08:28:01.663-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Punch ...8,9,10 he is out, or not?</title><content type='html'>I was in the kitchen and I am not clear what sparked this other than sounds like fun.  My son Gunnar who is 6 at 70 pounds and an avid wrestler was laying on the couching reading a book.  My 9 yr old daughter Molly weighing in at 54 pounds decided to do something dumb but fun.  I look over and I see her standing on the top of the arm rest at the other end of the couch were Gunnar was quietly reading.  As I was trying to figure WTF, I see her launch her self in a sprawled eagle style toward Gunnar, sort of like they do off the top ropes in WWF.  I here a thud as she lands on top of him.  With the back of the couch to me blocking my view, all I can see next is her arm and fist rising and falling over and over above the back of the couch.  I think Gunnar was so engrossed in the book that the first 2 or 3 punches he would have ignored but no, she did a rapid 5 punches which was enough to trigger his "Hulk" mode.  She springs off of him and is making a mad dash toward me.  Gunnar comes up with fire in eyes while grabbing the Calamine spray can. Sssssss  as closes in on her, he leaves a trail of lotion on the couch.  Molly hugs my leg for dear life like that is going to stop his head lock he now has her in.  I finally get him in a full nelson and get him quieted down.  Later on I ask Molly, WTF, you know he can hurt you bad, "I know daddy but it was fun", sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115090346923612176?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115090346923612176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115090346923612176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115090346923612176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115090346923612176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/06/punch-8910-he-is-out-or-not.html' title='Punch ...8,9,10 he is out, or not?'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-115012009171509032</id><published>2006-06-12T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-12T06:48:12.946-07:00</updated><title type='text'>6yr olds Grand Slam</title><content type='html'>So I had been spending a lot of time at practices and games with my older boy and the 9yrold daughter with baseball  and softball.  The little boy had been bugging me to take him out to play catch with him at the ball fields.  Off we went, after about 20 minutes of catch and dusk starting to settle in he said, "Daddy I want you to pitch overhand like the big boys do."   Reluctant but thinking hey I'll just put a helmet on him and he should be okay we proceed on..  We setup for the first pitch.  He looked so cute with his helmet on clutching his bat like old Barry Bond.  I was standing about 30 feet away as I unleashed my famous fast ball.  The swing was of perfect form followed by a ting.  I was then thinking with such a perfect swing where did the ball go when I was met with a burning pain on the side of my head as I collapsed to the ground.  As I got my eyes focusing more, I look up to see my boy standing over me with bat in hand saying, "See daddy, I told you I could hit the ball real far."  As I recanted my near death experience with my family the older boy Joe, 16 said, "Ya when I pitch to him he hits them to the fence."&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-115012009171509032?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/115012009171509032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=115012009171509032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115012009171509032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/115012009171509032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/06/6yr-olds-grand-slam.html' title='6yr olds Grand Slam'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-114870185042589414</id><published>2006-05-26T20:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T21:29:23.017-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who needs a barber?</title><content type='html'>Most kids do this when they are four but not Joe.  He waited until he was sixteen.  Mom insisted to Joe that he needed a nice haircut and her being the mom the discussion was done.  Joe set out to prove that he could make a statement.  Apparently he spent two hours working on his head.  When mom got home, all she could do was gasp and start whimpering.  Joe had shaved his head.  Well what he could reach.  He looked a like a mangy dog or someone going through chemotherapy as clumps of hair still remained.  It will be will documented as the family reunion is coming up in a couple of weeks.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-114870185042589414?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/114870185042589414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=114870185042589414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114870185042589414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114870185042589414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/05/who-needs-barber.html' title='Who needs a barber?'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-114870144547158349</id><published>2006-05-26T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-26T20:44:05.483-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't hurt me daddy</title><content type='html'>It was after baseball practice and Joe had been bugging me to let him drive home.  I had said no but before I knew it he was in the drivers seat shutting the door.  Before I could get the door handle release he gets the door locked.  With lightening fast reflexes I reach in the open window and unlock it but he was quick too and relocked it.  I reached in again but my fingers seemed like they just couldn't reach it this time.  I was thinking of the physics of this dilemma when I felt a terrible pain on my arm that was reached in.  In horror I realized he had shut the power windows on my arm.  Apparently my face of panic/rage scared him off as he was now cowering safely on the other side of the car.  I screamed something about ripping off his nuts if he didn't release the window.  Threats of violence worked and he release my now black and blue arm.  Coach came running over and said, "don't hurt his pitching hand".  As we drove home I asked him what the hell was he thinking of.  All I got was I got scared daddy.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-114870144547158349?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/114870144547158349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=114870144547158349' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114870144547158349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114870144547158349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/05/dont-hurt-me-daddy.html' title='Don&apos;t hurt me daddy'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-114201800642464794</id><published>2006-03-10T11:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-05-26T20:53:57.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dad’s Dream at Baseball</title><content type='html'>It was Winter time and me and my boy had been practicing through Winter to get ready for Spring baseball tryouts for the HS.  I had spent many of cold days out on the field pitching balls and working on hitting.  Today’s practice was different, it was warm, birds were chirping and the big try out was the next day.  Our father son practice was over when my son had an idea.  He would pitch one to me so I could have the glory of cracking one with the old wooden bat.  As he was getting set on the mound I was  visioning my perfect swing sending the ball deep to center field.  The pitch came, perfect, right down the middle.  Using perfect technique I gave the ball a crack, it was going to be a home run.  As I gazed out into center field looking for my ball, I hear a thud and in horror see my son stretched out on the ground grabbing his knee.  As I helped him hobble to the car, I kept assuring him it was nothing but couldn’t help notice the bloody marks left by the stitches on the inside of the knee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luck be with him it didn’t affect his tryout and he made the team.  I have sworn off taking batting practice from my kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-114201800642464794?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/114201800642464794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=114201800642464794' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114201800642464794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114201800642464794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/03/dads-dream-at-baseball.html' title='Dad’s Dream at Baseball'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15052316.post-114081440057185603</id><published>2006-02-24T12:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T19:29:47.765-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pukaroma I, II,III,&amp; IV</title><content type='html'>March 27, 1999 Pukaroma Weekend, the Nightmare Begins.&lt;br /&gt;Cast:&lt;br /&gt;The names have not been changed to protect the guilty&lt;br /&gt;Mom&lt;br /&gt;Dad&lt;br /&gt;Ashley 11&lt;br /&gt;Joey 8&lt;br /&gt;Molly 1.5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:00pm    Family was finishing up eating Daddy's world famous homemade pizza and yes&lt;br /&gt;some say it's better than our beloved Tim McCune's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:00pm   All is quite, all are asleep.&lt;br /&gt;1:08am    I was brought out of my sleep to hear coughing, gulping and a little crying from&lt;br /&gt;hour 18mos old.  I dashed into her room to gladly see she was just doing dry heaves.  With not a moment to spare I snatched her out of bed with only 9 large steps to the bathroom.  But as I&lt;br /&gt;turned around I met mom who was concerned and wanted me to stop so she could assess the&lt;br /&gt;situation, being a nurse and all.  My screams of “get out of my way woman she's gonna blow” were ignored by my wife.&lt;br /&gt;The 3 second delay was long enough for the projectile vomit stream to strike me in the side of the face and part of the bed.  In a futile attempt to get to the bathroom I left a trail of regurgitated pepperoni pizza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:10am    As wife gives Molly a bath and starts the one of many loads of laundry, I am going&lt;br /&gt;down stairs to bring up Mr. Bissle to start cleaning up the trail of puke.  I was about halfway&lt;br /&gt;done dreaming of going back to bed when I heard out of Ashley's room one large cough then 2&lt;br /&gt;seconds of rushing liquids roaring out of her mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:25am    Her room was a site to see.  She had turned and caught the edge of the bed where&lt;br /&gt;it sprayed over the other half of the room.  Now here would be a good argument to keep your&lt;br /&gt;stuff picked up in ones room because now all her stuff including clothes had chucks and liquid&lt;br /&gt;pizza clinging to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:30am    Mom hauls her to the bathroom where she remained curled in a fetal position next to the porcelain throne. Another load of laundry to be done&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:48am    Mr. Bissle has taken care of Trail of Puke and we are now heading into Ashley's&lt;br /&gt;room to deal with the regurgitated pizza spackled floor.  I discovered that pepperoni takes a long&lt;br /&gt;time to digest as I had to hand pick those pieces up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:08am    I am emptying Mr. Bissle when I hear Joe yell I don't&lt;br /&gt;feel well.  I asked him if he felt like throwing up and he answered with a rush of vomit.  Mom&lt;br /&gt;cleaned him up and sent him to the other bathroom to curl up in the fetal position, this is going to&lt;br /&gt;be a popular position tonight.  Another load of laundry to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:59am    Done with Ashley's room and halfway done with Joe's carpet when I hear my wife&lt;br /&gt;screaming she can't make it.  As I was about ask what did she mean by I can't make it I hear&lt;br /&gt;hacking and coughing with her head pointed at the one spot of carpet untouched by vomit.  I&lt;br /&gt;grabbed her and drug her to the toilet where buckets came streaming out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4:20am    5 loads of laundry are done, beds made, kids and mom curled at the porcelain alter&lt;br /&gt;for the night, my work is done, time to sleep now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April 8, 2000 Pukaroma Weekend II&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are true stories and as much as I would like to say they are embellished they are not.  In&lt;br /&gt;fact I probably have blocked out some of the horrid details.  You ask what is the purpose of these&lt;br /&gt;writings?  Answer, planned parent hood.  If you have a young couple and they are thinking they&lt;br /&gt;are ready for kids then give them the Pukaroma Weekend stories and see if they are ready, I'm&lt;br /&gt;betting not since I'm 40 now and I get weak thinking about the future stories I have yet to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A 4 mos boy was added to the all star cast.&lt;br /&gt;Gunnar&lt;br /&gt;The names have not been changed to protect the guilty&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 1&lt;br /&gt;10:30pm:  I had just changed a major dry heave diaper on Gunnar and lucky for me the&lt;br /&gt;diaper had contained the soupage so other than the pungent stomach ripping smell all had gone&lt;br /&gt;well.  I was calling it a night.  As I was walking back to my bed of comfort I passed Ashley's&lt;br /&gt;room only to hear major dinosaur calls, not a good thing.  I ran in hoping she was only in the dry&lt;br /&gt;heave stages but no.  There was a 1 foot diameter pool of regurgitated chunked soup on her&lt;br /&gt;comforter.  Apparently my turning on the light was a big mistake because when she saw what&lt;br /&gt;was in her bed she freaked.  There might as well have been a bed full of spiders as she flung the&lt;br /&gt;comforter with the self contained vomit off the bed.  Now chunks and puke came raining down in&lt;br /&gt;the room like a Wizard's blizzard in Warcraft II.  Puke had now claimed the walls, desk, blanket,&lt;br /&gt;sheets, bed comforter, and 20sq feet of carpet.  After hosing off the comforter on the back porch&lt;br /&gt;(my dogs will love this reheated treat) 2 loads of laundry and 30 min with the Bissle Clean&lt;br /&gt;Machine  (can't live without one) I was making Ashley's bed.    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:38pm   As a precaution I put towels down on the floor and a large overflow bowl for&lt;br /&gt;future episodes.  I was gleefully skipping back to my room after tucking her in when I seemed to&lt;br /&gt;notice gut wrenching odor.  It was Molly and she was working on a blowout from the bottom&lt;br /&gt;end.  Just as I was going to assess the leakage factor I heard back in the other room more praying to the porcelain alter.  As I walked back to Ashley's room I wasn't too worried since she had that bowl but no it was It was all over her blankets.  Apparently she was too tired to lean over and hit the bowl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:08am   Bad news Molly's soupy diaper had penetrated  through, blown up the back and&lt;br /&gt;was now soaking into the bedding.  I wrapped her up in a towel and gingerly carried her to&lt;br /&gt;the bathtub hoping not to drip any soupage on the carpet.  By now the combination of puke and&lt;br /&gt;diarrhea stench was not helping with my digestion of the pizza I had eaten earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:10am    Molly was now bathed and dressed, and in bed asleep.  Time to hit the hay.  As I&lt;br /&gt;was heading to our bathroom I heard little Gunnar coughing or was that puking?  Another reason&lt;br /&gt;not to have extra bedding and cute stuff toys in the crib.  Sure enough yellow puke all over&lt;br /&gt;bedding and stuffed animals.  As I picked him up he let me know he still loved me with a little&lt;br /&gt;yellow projectile vomiting on me.  But luck was with me since my large body had enough surface&lt;br /&gt;area that the puke never reached the carpet.  I wiped the  puke off of me (his first puke ever),&lt;br /&gt;changed his outfit, washed his bedding and took that well deserved shower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:15am    Climbed into bed.  Wife coming out of her oblivious comma sleep nudges me&lt;br /&gt;saying she had had a rough day and could I keep the racket down, oh and could  I get her some&lt;br /&gt;juice.  If only I could sleep so well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:20am    Before my senses take in any more I passed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 2          Relatively speaking a better day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:30pm   The wife and I had just settled down into the Jacuzzi.  As I was twisting off the&lt;br /&gt;cap to my wine cooler I heard a startling pound on the bathroom door followed by "I threw up".&lt;br /&gt;Sigh, wife said enjoy the moment here check on his undocumented claim later but it was hard to&lt;br /&gt;relax knowing there was puke claiming more and more territories as I waited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:05am   Hauled out my friend Mr. Bissle and headed for Joe's room.  The good news was&lt;br /&gt;he leaned over the bed and missed all of the bedding.  The bad news was 2 of his dresser drawers&lt;br /&gt;were pullout and thus were visited by Mr. Puke.  But that was easy to cleanup as I pulled them&lt;br /&gt;out into a heap for my lovely wife to have for the next morning.  Mr. Bissle groaned from the&lt;br /&gt;excessive use and split out a connecting hose spewing water all over the walls.  No problem used&lt;br /&gt;a towel on the floor to catch the drippage and grabbed the leaking hose with my hand and hurried on to get the job done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:12am    Fell into bed, closed eyes but now I hear Gunnar crying, something about a tummy&lt;br /&gt;ache.  Brought  Gunnar to wife, wife says he's ready to go back.  Five min later Gunnar is ready&lt;br /&gt;to visit mom again, and so on and so on.&lt;br /&gt;2:30am    Passed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:15am    Tap on shoulder its Molly she's hungry now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     February 27, 2001 Pukaroma Weekday III &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It truly makes you wonder how parents make it raising kids.  No choice of our own an average night our sleep is 5hrs with one to two awakenings.  These are all true stories.  Molly is 3.5yrs and Gunnar is 14mos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:45pm   I get the giddy idea that we should go to bed early, so we do, skipping&lt;br /&gt;extracurricular activities and going straight for sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:19am   Gunnar does his stretching shrieking cry.  So wife puts him in OUR bed with&lt;br /&gt;bottle.  Not a good move in hind sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:30am   Gunnar flings empty bottle on to dad's unprotected face, a ritual to let dad know&lt;br /&gt;that he his done and will be settling down for the night in dads ever shrinking bed real estate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:45am   Whimper noises coming from son, dad ignores figuring its another ploy to push&lt;br /&gt;dad close to edge of bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:50am   Gunnar places hands on dads chest to better prop himself up in bed in an effort to&lt;br /&gt;get his head in a more dominating position.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:51am   Gunnar now speaks but instead it's a rumbling cough followed by the ever so&lt;br /&gt;missed projectile vomit. Sigh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:15am    Gunnar is washed down, dad is washed down, new set of bed sheets and&lt;br /&gt;thankfulness that nothing landed on the carpet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:18am    Gunnar back in bed, dad reclaims bed real estate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:30am    Molly comes busting in the room running over to mom's side.  A little unusual&lt;br /&gt;aggressive behavior for 1:30am but mom brushes off suspicious behavior saying Molly just misses her mommy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:31am    Molly cuddles next to mom and mumbles something.  As mom is guessing what&lt;br /&gt;word Molly is saying mom stumbles on the phrase "throw up". During the process of confirming&lt;br /&gt;this, I am left with the dilemma of do I grab her and fling her into the bathroom 14' away with the gamble I don't make it and thus leaving the trail of puke on the carpet or do I let mom take the brunt of her dinosaur calls.  Choice was easy let mom take the hit, since the decision making is in my head but  God for bid if she knew I let nature takes its course on her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:55am    Mom has taken her shower, molly washed up towels laid on bed, we ran out of&lt;br /&gt;bed sheets by now, and everyone dozing off.  As I am sinking into my cherished 4.5 hours of&lt;br /&gt;sleep, mom sighs and mutters something about I am surprised the other 2 kids haven't been&lt;br /&gt;singing their song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:30am    As luck would have it sleep was on our side for now but the weekend is still not&lt;br /&gt;far away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     November 21, 2001  Pukaroma Weekday IV&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day before I had gotten a request for the stories and I had thought to myself glad I am just&lt;br /&gt;sending these stories and not writing them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:38 pm Settling in watching my son at basketball at practice, wife is at work and Ashley is&lt;br /&gt;watching the 4 year old and 2 year old at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:40pm Phone rings, Ashley is screaming and crying that Matthew is Puking everywhere and she was leaving in 10 min so I better get home.  On the drive home I was trying to remember after cleaning out the basement where I had put Mr. Bissel after the last episode.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:51pm Came in through the door only to be hit by a heavy acidic blast of odor.  From my vast&lt;br /&gt;experience in this type of situation  I was able to contain my dry heave urges.  The kids seemed&lt;br /&gt;to be settled down and from what I could reconstruct this is what happened.  Gunnar started&lt;br /&gt;gurgling which brought Ashley over to check things out.  Then he projected out a heavy&lt;br /&gt;green/yellow thick fluid at her which of course landed on the carpet.  Ashley turned and  ran in terror cowering on the couch as if a mouse was about on the floor.  Gunnar scared wanted comfort so he climbed on the couch seeking the comfort he needed from Ashley.  Then another belch and mor yellow chunky substance splattered the couch.  Ashley jumped off and went racing to her room with Gunnar dripping puke following in her steps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:55pm I picked up Gunnar placed him in the bath tub, stripped him down and gave him a&lt;br /&gt;sponge bath, in hind site I should have waited another 5 min.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:15pm I brought in Mr. Bissle from the garage.  By the time I got back Gunnar was crying.  I&lt;br /&gt;picked him up expecting more of a mess in the crib but found none.  Then I noticed my hands&lt;br /&gt;were starting to feel damp.  I started to unzip him but was only half way down before I realized&lt;br /&gt;the dampness was a blow out which went all the way up the back to the neck.  Never new mixing&lt;br /&gt;a blowout with puke could be so hard on the lungs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:25pm Placed him back in the tub for a complete bath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:40pm He is dressed and happy so I better get back to the mess before it sits in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:45pm I screw the hose from Mr. Bissle on to the sink only to notice the washer is cracker, shouldn't make a difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:50pm I turn on water for a pre test. Cracked wash does make a difference.  Fortunately the&lt;br /&gt;window by the sink took most of the water and rest on the floor, was going to mop later that&lt;br /&gt;night anyway.  Dug around a found a non cracked washer now I am good to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:55pm Gunnar is crying again.  Apparently he went into his sister room and from what I can&lt;br /&gt;figure started twirling around as he blew because it is everywhere, beds clothes, carped and toys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:05pm He is redressed and is in his crib just incase he has more ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:10pm Mr.  Bissle fires up with that every so familiar roar.  Starting with the first area hit with puke, I squeeze the trigger for the blast of hot water.  Water starts squirting out from the handle dousing me in a bath of water.  I cover the leak the best i can I continue on.  Ashley being the observant teenager she is points out that I am getting water spots on the carpet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:15pm Too much leakage so I decide that I can simple glue the leak with so often used Super&lt;br /&gt;Glue.  Gunner pukes again but I just lift him up and change the towel under neath him.  Gunnar&lt;br /&gt;doses back off or in my case recharges the digestive system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:20pm I carefully align tip of glue bottle of leak on plastic handle and squeeze.  No glue so I&lt;br /&gt;squeeze a little harder and a little harder.  Then crack the bottle cracks open and glue goes all&lt;br /&gt;over my hands.  I have about these stories but they are usually in dumb movies or Red Neck&lt;br /&gt;jokes.  Carefully I wash off hands with soap and water, fortunately no story here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:40pm Return from store with new bottle of glue and make the necessary repairs.  Gunnar pukes and I change his towel again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:00pm Glue is drive and we are back in business.  Fire up Mr Bissle only to realize that by&lt;br /&gt;fixing that pressure release point that another one was formed around a rubber connector.  No&lt;br /&gt;fixing this so drenched I work my way from one puke zone to puke zones.  Oh, and Gunnar pukes and I change his towel again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:00pm Everything is cleaned, I take a shower, kids in bed, all towels and bed sheets are now in a heap in front of the washing machine, time to relax.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:01pm Mom comes in after work only to ask what have I been doing the house is a wreck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 22&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley, Joe, Molly, Mother come down with all flue symptoms.  Dad goes to work on&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving day only to be inundated with phone calls to come home and take care of them.&lt;br /&gt;Calls are ignored and Dad escapes the flu epidemic.  On the up note my 4year old learned to use&lt;br /&gt;the stool during the illness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 23 Bought a Hoover Upright Turbo Steamamatic 7000.  It sits waiting for the next&lt;br /&gt;episode of Pukaroma Weekend Series.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/15052316-114081440057185603?l=familyhell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/feeds/114081440057185603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15052316&amp;postID=114081440057185603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114081440057185603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15052316/posts/default/114081440057185603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://familyhell.blogspot.com/2006/02/pukaroma-i-iiiii-iv.html' title='Pukaroma I, II,III,&amp; IV'/><author><name>Bolltron</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05239933228397788936</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
