Daddy's Rules for Dating

My dad sent this to me in an email. Ahh flashbacks to high school.....

Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them..

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a 'Barrier method' of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: 'early.'

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge . Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual themes are to be avoided; movies which feature chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi . When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Meme

From AD-

What do you think when I say:

1. Beer: Tecate, lime and salt
2. Anorexic: Olsen twins
3. Relationships: Wonderful
4. Purple: Bear
5. Power Rangers:Evil
6. Weed:Vomiting
7. Steroids:Baseball
8. Cartoons:Courage
9. The President: Downhill slide
10. Tupperware: Multiplies like bunnies
11. Best vacation:Island
12. Santa Claus: Lies. All lies.
13. Halloween: New baby
14. Bon Jovi: I'll Be There For You
15. Grammar: Endangered
16. Facebook: Over it.
17. Worst fear: Something happening to my family
18. Marriage:Amazing
19. Paris Hilton: Why?
21. Redhead: My neices
22. Blonde: Me
23. Pass the time: Reading
24. One night stands: No thanks
25. Donald Trump:See Bad hair
26. Neverland: Peter Pan
27. Pixie dust: Tinker Bell
28. Vanilla ice cream: Stawberries.
29. High School: Zcarrici jeans and cole hans with no socks
30. Work: Wondering how they'll tak me bing pregnant
31. Pajamas: Flannel
32. Woods: Peaceful.
33. Wet Sock: Cna't stand it
34. Alcohol: Moderation
35. Love: my husband and son (and the peanut.)

Hallucinations

I, to the surprise of no one, frequent a few message boards. One for women with children Remi's age and one for women TTC their second child. Here is my confession- When I would read about women having sore boobs, nausea and fatigue before they were even six weeks long I would secretly think, "Woman, you've lost your damn mind." Karma ia making me swallow my words. I'm all of 12 days past ovulation and I'm already sore and hoping profusely that if I do throw up I"m at home and not in the middle of Target. The nausea seems to hit about 1 pm and last for a few hours. Who in the hell gets afternoon sickness at 4 weeks?! I never got sick with Remi. For a few weeks atarting in my second month I would feel ill but I never really got sick. this is a whole new ball gmae for me.

Knocked up

And it only took us four months this time instead of 18! I would have sworn I was getting whatever God awful stomach bug all the men at work have had. Turns out I was getting a baby instead! Ed is thrilled (though a little nervous) and Remi... well, Remi's three. I think I should buy a book that will help explain it to him. Yay!!!!

It's the small things

I've been curious about cranberry farming since I saw the flooded fields in whatever that juice commercial is. Every time I see it I tell my husband I wish I knew how they DO that. Today I come home and on the TiVo I see an episode of Dirty Jobs. In it mike Rowe is making bricks and.... farming cranberries. No amount of flowers or candy in the world makes me feel more special than knowing that not only does my husband listen and rememeber the seemingly insignificant things I tell him, he cares enough to act on it. He doesn't even WATCH Dirty Jobs. TiVo'd cranberry farming... that's true love.

Is there enough room?

See those boys up there? They are my life. I woke up this morning snuggled between my husband and my son and I thought, "Could this get any more perfect?" And then I starting wondering about the decision we've made to have another. Would there be room? Everything is so perfect. Will another baby double that joy? Or create havoc?

I'm an only child. I have no idea what it's like to have a sibling or to raise two children. The relationship between siblings is an enigma to me. I see how close my cousins are and how close Ed's and his brother are but the depth of that relationship elludes me.

I don't want Remi to be an only child. But part of me wonders if I'm ever going to be able to understand. Will I love Number Two as much as I do Remi? Will Remi accept a new baby? Will they be best friends or enemies?

The love I have for my son takes my breath away. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep him safe and happy. My world would end with out him. I would be a worthless shell of a person. Is it possible that, with another child, that love will double? Or will it some how take away from my sweet boy?

I never imagined that the love of my life would wear safty goggles and a cape. I certainly hope that when I do get pregnant that he'll be as excited as we will be. And that we all learn that there is no capacity limit of love.

Broken filter

My dad has always told me that God forgot to install the filter bewtween my brain and my mouth. My internal filter is beyond repair. You wnat butt pats you've coem to the wrong palce. Which means if you come to me whining for advice I will give it to you, uncensored and unrrated. If you then shoot down Every. Single. Suggestion I make with some lame excuse be prepared. I will tell you that it isn't your husband's fault your marriage is in the shitter. The man TOLD you exactly what he needed and you continued to ignore him. You made excuses about conflicting schedules and kids that get "upset" about going to bed early and about how you don't want to go outside and do things becasue its cooooooooooold. Guess what? We he leaves your whining excuses to find a woman that will LISTEN to him, you will get no sympathy from me. Men are simple. If you've already had sex, make him a damn sandwich. Put the kid to bed early no matter how pissed she gets. Better to have a slighty mad 2 year old than to be a single mother. You have a husband who cares enough to tell you what he needs changed (and has reasonable requests) and didn't just immediatly try to replace your bitchy ass (I wouldn't have blamed him.)

It comes down to one thing- The best gift you can give your child is to love her father. He is not there only to pay bills and make sperm donations. He has needs and feelings and he's TRYING for God's sake. Try with him!!! And stop whinign to me. I ran out of cheese ages ago.