I have written here a few times about my efforts to regain my girlish figure. For instance, lately I’ve cut back on the instant coffee to prevent the growth of more moobage. But over the past 6 to 8 weeks I’ve actually resorted to drastic measures to lose some weight.

I’ve been exercising.

I know! What a novel concept, right?

I have been hitting the gym three or four times a week. I usually do between 20 and 30 minutes of running on the treadmill and then do a light weight workout of squats, bench and shoulder press, lat pull-downs, hamstring curls and leg extensions, and abdominal and lower back exercises. I then collapse in a heap lay down on a stretching mat and force my body to become a tad more flexible than the tin man from the Wizard of Oz.

Over the past month I have begun to notice changes in my physique. My waist line has been the biggest beneficiary as it has shrunk enough that I can now cinch the belt another notch. I have also welcomed back some muscles that I thought were long gone. My shoulders and chest are becoming a bit more manly and a bit less womanly and I can now make my pecs dance when looking at myself in the mirror. Which is, by the way, a great way to pass the time when you’re bored.

I’ve been so good that I decided to reward myself by purchasing some newer exercise clothes. So I went to Target and bought a few shirts and a pair of shorts. Now I should tell you that I never try on clothes when I go shopping. I know my size so I just pull off what I want and pay for it. So when I grabbed the shirts, I didn’t even think twice about trying them on. Well, last night when I went to put on my new shirt to go exercise at the Y, I noticed that my shirt was a bit… um… tight. So tight that it left nothing to the imagination.

And, since I’m still a work in progress, I was a bit concerned that my dancing pecs wouldn’t be enough to distract people from the slight pudge in my mid-section. But my wife, who has a great sense of humor and probably chuckled silently to herself all last night, persuaded me that I looked good. So, taking her word for it, I went off and exercised with the tightest shirt known to mankind.

I survived. Turns out, dancing pecs do distract from pudgy midsections.

Now, since I bought three of these shirts, I have to keep working on that midsection because dancing pecs can only take a guy so far.

Over the past few weeks, Swee’Pea has begun to actually draw stuff when given something to draw with. Now, her squiggles are “worms” and her amorphous blobs are “kitties”. But today, as I was helping her brother try yet another failed attempt at “dropping his kids off at the pool”, she arrived in the bathroom carrying the Doodle Pad and announced, “Daddy! I drew a picture of you!”

And I’ll be damned. She sure did…

Washington, D.C. - In a surprise move today, leaders of both the House and the Senate proposed legislation that would allow the Federal Government to hold a yard sale to raise much-needed capital for the nation’s ailing financial sector.

Standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial (which featured an orange sticker with the price tag of $1,000,000 plastered to Lincoln’s forehead), Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, House Republican Leader John Boehner, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, in a rare showing of bipartisanship, declared the need to sell off stuff the nation has laying around.

“We have become a nation of hoarders and collectors and now is the time to break that habit while also raising much-needed funds to help bolster the confidence of the U.S. and World markets.” said, Pelosi.

When asked what articles the U.S. would put up for sale, Senator McConnell (R-KY) began reading from a list. “First, we’ll start off with stuff no one would miss or is broken. That would include the Liberty Bell, Old Yankee Stadium, South Dakota, one of John McCain’s houses, the Hollywood sign, a 2008 Hummer, office furniture from Bear Stearns, and the Florida Marlins.” But, he acknowledged, that might not be enough. “We might have to make some tough choices when it comes to deciding what to sell. Next up on the list would be Barack Obama’s Letterman’s jacket, New Yankee Stadium, the Jersey Shore, Lake Huron (because, frankly, no one knows where it is) and, because Sarah Palin insists the Russians would be interested, Western Alaska.”

When pressed by the media, Congressman Boehner (R-OH) also acknowledged the difficulty in arranging a yard sale of such scale. “President Bush is 100% behind this and since he’s always bragging about how big Texas is, Texas has agreed to host the yard sale. We also realize that we’ll have to have a lot more stuff to sell off and people are stepping forward to help. Sarah Palin has volunteered to round up a bunch of books from the Alaska public library and Barack Obama has donated a signed copy of his book along with the copy of the Iliad he pretended to read as a first-year student at Columbia. Senator Reid (D-NV) has offered to put up the Las Vegas Strip to the highest bidder and Former President Clinton has offered to personally escort the buyer of the Las Vegas strip to all the good strip joints. Senator Clinton promises to look the other way while also promising to ‘wholeheartedly support Senator Obama’.”

Senator Reid (D-NV) pledged that Wall Street will be expected to help in this endeavor. “They are not getting a free ride.” he insisted. “All the CEOs will donate their golden parachutes to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. They have also pledged to hand-write hundreds of “Yard Sale This Saturday” signs on cardboard and to put them at intersections across the country. The banks have also agreed to hand out free stress balls with WAMU’s logo on it to the first 1,000 buyers.”

Congresswoman Pelosi ended the press conference by assuring the public that the U.S. Government is in control. “Rest assured that we have a plan that will work. The American people will once again have faith in our financial sector once we sell off all those used shoes hanging from telephone wires. And, I’d like to add, we never would have been in this mess if it weren’t for those bastard Republicans.”

The Yard Sale will be held deep in the heart of Texas on Saturday from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Serious buyers will want to arrive early for a chance to purchase the high end merchandise. The Florida Marlins, however, should still be available for the late arriving crowd.

Dear Swee’Pea and TheMonk,

One of the things that most surprises me about being your father is how much I have learned from you both. As your father I thought it was my responsibility to teach you but, rather, you have often taught me about life. You have reminded me of the special magic that is created when sharing something with someone you love. You have reminded me that power of laughter and the wonder that exists at the eye level of a toddler. You have reminded me how discovering new things is still a wonder - even when you’re old and jaded like me. Yes, you have taught me so much.

But I gotta tell you. For all that you have taught me, my little ones, you absolutely suck at “hide and seek.”

Tonight we played our first all out “hide and seek” game and while I don’t like to brag, I kicked your little toddler butts. And while you may have taught me so much in the last few years, your old man proved tonight that he can still teach you a thing or two.

Like when you ask me to count and then stand by giggling? Hello?! I can totally hear you!

Or when you go hide and scream to each other where you think you should hide? I can STILL hear you!

Hiding under the covers is a great idea and I totally give you credit for that, but for it to work you have to lie still. Flopping around like a fish out of water is kind of a giveaway.

Oh, and just because you can’t see me? Doesn’t mean that I can’t see you. Hiding your head under the pillows with your little booty poking out, waving back and forth as you squirm in anticipation, is not going to cut it. I may be dumb but I’m not blind.

And finally, when you run through the house screaming, “DADDY! WHERE ARE YOU?!!!” because you can’t find me hiding behind the shower curtain in your bathroom, don’t expect me to just shout out, “Here I am!” No, you found out the hard way that I will scare the bejeebus out of you when you least expect it. It’s for your own good, really.

So, you might teach me a thing or two about life but every now and then I get to teach you a thing or two as well.

You learned tonight that if you want to beat Daddy at a game of hide and seek, you better bring your “A” game.

Just call me The Bus Driver. Because I took you to school.

Love,
Daddy.

Told that it will be 45 minute wait to get their haircuts at the kiddie hair salon in the outdoor mall near our house, we decide to walk around. As we stroll the sidewalk, we come to the small, neighborhood toy store which, prior to entering, I explained to the kids we were only going to look and that we weren’t going to buy anything.

The store isn’t extremely busy but there are a number of families perusing the store with us. The kids rush from awesome toy to awesome toy, barely containing their glee at being so close to such wonderful pieces of molded plastic and synthetic hair.

TheMonk, spying a particularly cool yellow tractor, says out loud, “Oooh, Daddy! Look at that! That’s pretty! I want to buy that!”

Then, his face suddenly saddens and he says with a loud, matter-of-fact voice that everyone nearby can hear, “But Daddy, we can’t buy it because you don’t have any money.”

I was buried under a pile of work today so I wasn’t able to let you know that I am now part of an exclusive club. The “Guest post on the Honea Express so Whit doesn’t have to actually write anything” club.

So go on over and read about my apparent man crush (needless to say, I didn’t pick the title of the post) with Man of the Blogosphere, Whit.

Regularly scheduled programming will commence shortly.

An old high school friend surprised me last night by posting my Junior Prom photo on his Facebook page. A few things come to mind when viewing this photo…

1) I can’t remember the name of my date and I feel really bad about that. She was a very nice girl who I didn’t know very well and we had a nice evening but I don’t think we really ever talked much after that.

2) How 1980’s is my tux? You can’t tell in this photo but her dress was light pink and my cumber bun and tie matched her dress. I’m also digging those gray shoes.

3) I weighed about 135 pounds back then. I had like 2% body fat. I think I look much fatter healthier now that I’ve added forty-five a few pounds.

4) Is it just me or do I look like a young Barack Obama in this photo? (i.e. major ear protrudeness)

Be kind when commenting, please. I didn’t know any better back then.

“Daddy, push my chair in! Push my chair innnnnnn!”
“Daddy, I gotta go poo poo!!!”
“Daddy, can you help me wash my hands?!”
“Daddy, I wanna go outside.  Now, Daddy!!”
“Daddy, I got a booger on my finger! Get it!”
“Daddy, I’m hungry. Can I have a snack?!”
“Daddy, Swee’Pea won’t share!”
“Daddy, I wanna watch Little Einsteins!”
“I don’t WANNA watch football!”
“Daddy, TheMonk’s sitting on me!”
“I want that, Swee’Pea!!”
“Daddy! I went poo poo again! Come wipe me!”
“Daddy, I squished a bug!”
“AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”
“Daddy, come play with me.”
“Daddy, spin me like a helicopter.”
“Daddy, can we eat lunch outside?”
“Daddy, I dropped my grape on the ground.”
“Daddy, I ate the grape!”
“Can I have more grapes?”
“Daddy, I want to plant flowers with seeds.”
“Daddy, I want to play in the dirt.”
“Daddy, I brought you some dirt!”
“Daddy, can you wash my hands?”

When we first had the twins, being the cheap bastard that I am, I decided that I’d limit my Starbucks habit by preparing coffee at home. I even came up with my own poor mans mocha that I have continued to drink just about every day over the past three years.

This poor mans mocha consists of Instant Coffee, Hot Chocolate, Hot Water (duh) and some flavored syrup. It gives me my needed jolt of caffeine in the morning and, considering I can make about 50 of these for the same price of four Starbucks mochas, the savings appeals to my cheap ways.

But here’s the thing. Today I came across a study that shows that Instant Coffee has a very high concentration of a chemical called phytoestrogen. This chemical, apparently, is what teenage girls dream of.  You see, this chemical makes boobs.  And the worst part is it doesn’t care if you’re a man or woman.

So, while all this time I’ve been working out, hitting the weights, trying to turn my pecs into hard, chiseled, mounds of eye candy by religiously attending the gym, I’ve been undermining my efforts by ingesting large amounts of boob maker!

They say you get what you pay for and apparently I’ve been paying for a boob job over the past three years!  I’ve got man boobs!  I’ve got moobs! (Granted, they are not even A cup moobs. They’re training bra moobs.  They’re petite moobs.  Very small.  Not Playboy material at all.)

As far as I can see there’s only one solution to this boob producing problem.

Starbucks, here I come!  Save me from my moobs!

It is a dark morning with the first rays of light just making their way into the kids’ bedroom. I quietly pull Swee’Pea out of her crib while TheMonk sleeps. I motion to her brother and whisper for her to be quiet. She nods in understanding and I carry her to the closet where she picks out her own dress to wear. I cannot help but notice, as I help her out of her pajamas and into her pretty pink Hawaiian dress in the quiet of the morning, that my little girl is not so little any more. Her maturity in the moment - understanding the importance of staying quiet, her ability to choose her own clothes, even the way her face looks as the shadows of the dawn stretch across her beautiful face, reminds me that she is, indeed, getting older. I lament this out loud as I sigh and whisper to her while nuzzling her soft cheek, “Swee’Pea. Please stop getting bigger. I am going to miss my little Swee’Pea…”

A few nights later, I am getting Swee’Pea ready for bed. I pull her pajama top over her head and as her face comes into view I am greeted with a serious look upon her face. A face too serious to match our usual bedtime routine.

Our eyes meet and I try and cheer her up with a bright smile. Swee’Pea however, with a face now tinged with sadness, ignores the smile and blurts out a melancholy statement that I cannot ignore… “Daddy, you said I can’t get bigger…”

I suddenly remember our early morning conversation from earlier in the week and I realize how my comment must have really bothered her. How foolish of me to hint to my daughter, who loves me dearly and certainly wants to please me, that she can no longer get bigger. How dare I plant a seed of remorse knowing that she is getting bigger when her father doesn’t want her to. I silently chastise myself for being so obtuse and I quickly think of words that can help explain my feelings in a way that she’ll understand.

“I’m sorry, Swee’Pea.” I say. “I know you are going to grow up. It’s just that I love every minute with you and I know I will miss you when you grow up to be a big, big girl like your mommy. I know you are getting bigger, Swee’Pea and it’s okay.”

I know my words have made an impact because her frown begins to fade. With a noticeable mood improvement in her demeanor she joyfull and loudly exclaims…

“Yeah, because someday, I’m going to get married and have a baby!!”