Mahhh-wage

Mahhh-wage ... dis is wut bwings us togeduh tooday. Twu wuv ... and mahhh-wage.

For a strange reason I can't explain, my thoughts were thrust toward this all-time classic movie, The Princess Bride, when a couple friends of ours (Braden and Marsha) told us they are engaged. As happy as we are for them, I haven't been able to shake the movie from my mind all day. When I put Dreyfuss, our dog, outside on his leash, he growled in the anticipation that comes with knowing he's about to go outside for the next 6 hours to lay in the grass and not-so-gingerly walk around a collection of his own landmines. I bravely looked him in the eyes and in the most sinister Spanish tone I could muster, I countered with: "My name in Inigo Montoya. You killed my father; prepare to die." He growled some more and I took that as my sign to let him go outside before he peed on my feet.

I recently read an article about the guy who played the priest in the Princess Bride. Apparently, he died about 10 years ago. I felt very fortunate that the author of the article included the fact that he died of something called "gastrointestinal hemorraghing." Two important details skipped well beyond my comprehension when I read that. First, it took me close to two minutes just to pronounce that, two minutes, by the way, that I'll never get back. I'm still not sure I've spelled it correctly here. Second, I have no idea what 'gastrointestinal hemorraghing' even means. For all I know, this guy could have died because he ripped "the fart heard 'round the world!" Imagine that, dying because you couldn't make it to the laxatives in time. That's a real bummer.

I planned to blog on Saturday about my most recent shed-building experience with Braden, but I was overwhelmed with sheer excitement at the thought of sitting at my desk to stare at a computer screen after spending almost five hours outside watching Braden do most of the manual labour. You'd be surprised how tiring that gets. So, I never made it to blogging. Besides, Braden and Marsha's good news takes slight precedence over the fact that I now have a big yellow permanent reminder standing arrogantly in my back yard that taunts me with some of the worst experiences I've ever had. The fact that it's yellow makes it hurt even more.

Nonetheless, I will gladly give kudo's where kudo's are due. A huge thanks to Bradonius Maximus, the Greek god of all things carpentry (that's now Braden's new official nickname). This shed would still be standing in our friends back yard had it not been for Moose Jaw's own version of Bob Vila, minus the attitude and crusty beard.

So Braden and Marsha, this blog is for you. Blog-u-lations on your engagement. When you think about it, Saturday was quite a day for the younger of the Mr Jago's. He almost finished building a shed with me, his handy Al Borland type of assistant, and he gets engaged all in the same day. What more can a guy ask for? If you ask me, that's almost totally INCON-THEIVEABLE!

Things That Make You Wanna Ralph

It all started one week ago today. I had the absolute worst experience I've endured as a parent. Changing a diaper is one thing, even if it's right after feeding her a plate full of Thanksgiving squash and then listening to her grunt it into her pants. Shoving a Q-tip up your little girl's nose to dig for gold is also a shameless experience. And dodging projectile urine while trying to provide for her sanitary enjoyment is yet another thing. As proud and loving parents we have taken on all of those challenges, all for the well-being of our daughter. But a few days ago, I went into the great unknown. I have yet to experience uncontrollable vomiting or dumps in the bathtub, but I think I could handle those conflicts of interest better than what happened the other morning. I was pressed into the kind of action for which I was not prepared.

It instantly gave me that sick feeling like the one you get when you know you really have to go but you also know you're never going to make it to the bathroom in time. And you can't just squeak out a few little farts to relieve the pressure because either the whole band plays or nobody plays at all. It's that moment you realize that your current pair of underwear are about to die a hero and be retired if they survive, or be subtly buried in the backyard next to your childhood pets if they don't.

Or so I'm told.

Kaitlyn sneezed straight into my mouth. Even writing that sentence triggers my gag reflex. I was afraid to swallow for two days after.

Like every other morning, I picked her up out of her crib to take her downstairs for breakfast. She had been awake for a few minutes and was quietly crying to get my attention. I innocently walked over to her crib, leaned over the edge to say good morning, picked her up, and then it happened. I was about to lay a good-morning-kiss on her cheek, and she initiated the full-frontal assault just as I was in mid-pucker.

No warning. No facial expression like she's just inhaled half the spice rack. No pushing my face out of the way before it happened. No half-stoned look like most people get right before they're about to sneeze. And definitely no holding back when it finally happenend. She just let it fly. And boy, did it fly. Right into my mouth.

My first instinct, as involuntary as anything I've ever known, was to swallow. So I did. And whatever she honked into me instantly felt like it was about to be yacked back up. I quickly surmized that whatever she withdrew from her sinuses and deposited into mine should have been chewed first. Suddenly, I had no appetite for breakfast.

Despite a brutal flu-like sickness that has been going around here, I have yet to catch all of what many of my co-workers and their families have contracted. But I definitely have something. When Kaitlyn sneezed into my mouth, she was fighting something herself at the time that is now finding a home inside of me. So I've been at home, sick for the last two days. Today is better than yesterday but I'm still a little way from feeling good enough to leave the house.

As if this incident wasn't bad enough, Kaitlyn tried to top her version of Sneeze-a-palooza. I gave her a bath yesterday, a normal bath by all appearances. But when I picked her up out of the tub, I heard a squeaking noise that I thought was coming from the floor. So I looked down to figure out what it was. But alas, a squeaking noise from the floor would be too simple. Squeaking noises from the floor don't stink. That's right ... Kaitlyn's soaking wet butt had unashamedly farted on my bare arm. Flashbacks of the sneeze flooded my mind. I checked my arm for brown spots that I didn't come with. Much to my relief I was spotless. I'm not sure I've ever put a diaper on her as quickly as I did yesterday morning. For all I know, I may have put the diaper on backwards, but it was on her and prepared to catch whatever she was about to throw. At the moment, that's all that really mattered.

Fortunately, today's a new day. And it's only a matter of time before she squeezes out something new.

The Communicator's Prayer

God and Father of all,

who from the beginning came to bring light and truth and love to man

by the Word, grant to us who deal with words and images

such a reverance for Thee that through careful and honest work,

we may keep the coinage of our language sound.

Give us humility to realize that we are called

not to be perfect but to be clear,

not to be infallible but to be fair.

Direct those who, in this our generation, speak where many listen,

who write what many read, and who show what many see,

that they may do their part in making the heart of our people wise,

its mind sound, and its will righteous.

Amen.

- The Oxford Book of Prayer

Incompetence

Few things frustrate me more than my own incompetence. Well, except when an unidentified co-worker uses the staff washroom at work and leaves very well pronounced skidmarks in the toilet. To make matters worse, the seat was still warm. Enough said.

Anyway, back to matters of competence, or lack thereof. We bought a shed about one month ago with the intention of putting it in our back yard. It's an 8' x 10' monstrosity that weighs more than anything in this life ever should. So with the help of a few friends who went above and beyond the call of duty, we ripped the shed into 6 pieces and hauled it over to our place where it now lies scattered across the back yard. As usual, Stacey put together a detailed gameplan that would account for all matters related to the shed. It was my job to carry out the gameplan, to catch the vision, to bring home the goods, as it were.

(Can anyone tell me what "as it were" actually means? It doesn't even make sense, but it sounded like it should go at the end of that sentence. Any help here would be greatly appreciated ... as it were???)

Agreeing to carry out the gameplan wasn't really where I discovered my incompetence. Rather, this is where my incomptenece was confirmed. I had a sneaking suspicion that when it comes to all things 'handyman,' I had enough inability for two people. Should you doubt this, may I refer you to my blogs about painting?

The first step was to lay patio stones. A couple of hours later, the stones were in place but I couldn't feel my back. Along the way, I managed to become stupidly confused about the measurements of the stones and how they would align with the length and width of the shed. At one point, I even needlessly started moving stones from where they should have been to account for my confusion, only to discover later, they were in the right spot the first time. Back they went.

Once I started replacing the studs in the walls, I was doing slightly better. Until I actually started screwing the studs into the walls. Never mind the fact that I cut almost every piece of wood - or 'lumber' for you hardcore handymen - about 1/2 an inch short. As I pressed and pushed the screw into place with my new power drill, the screw would only go 3/4 of the way in, leaving an inch or so of screw outside the stud. There I sat, thinking to myself, "Great, now I'm screwed ... man, I feel like a tool." Puns intended.

About 20 minutes later, after staring down my new drill much like a baseball player stares at his glove when he misses a ground ball, I discovered that my drill has different torque levels. So I cranked up the torque on that bad boy and let it rip. I would not be defeated again. Much to my surprise, confusion, and giddy delight - all in equal amounts - the screws disappeared into the studs, a little quicker than I expected, I might add. Why don't they just torque up every drill so it works like that automatically? Perhaps I'll add that to my list of questions to ask God when I get to heaven: "What's the deal with power drills?"

I did what I could today. The patio stones are where they need to be even though one of them spontaneously broke when I picked it up. Not to mention that one row of stones is about 2 inches longer than any of the others despite the reality that all the stones are exactly the same size and have exactly the same amount of stones in each row. Yes, I know the lines are probably slightly crooked, but guess what? I don't care. They resemble a square or a rectangle or whateve it needs to be, and I'm OK with an extra two inches in a back corner that likely won't make a difference.

That's what incompetence does. It breeds mediocrity.

After all this, I can be thankful for at least one thing on this thanksgiving weekend. This experience has taught me that I absolutely detest yard work, and I include the laying of patio stones - or any other kind of stone - in the term, "yard work." This is a little golden nugget of truth for which I am forever greatful, for I shall never walk down this road - or this patio - again. I will stick to things I am good at, but still attempt things I don't know that are realistically within the realm of possibility.

I guess it just goes to show you. Some days you're the skidmarks. Other days, you're the toilet.

It's My Mother-in-law's birthday today...

... so if you're reading this, and you know Bev - or if you're reading this and you don't know her - be sure to wish her a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! You can reach her at her blog by clicking on the link on the right side of my page.

I won't mention how old she is, but let's say it's somewhere between 59 and 61.

Happy Birthday, Bev.

Love, Kevin, Stacey, and Kaitlyn ... and Dreyfuss.

Chemistry

Check out the new video clip in my 'Classic Video' collection below ... "Blind Date."

"We've got chemistry here ... all right, Janice!"

A Video of Kaitlyn

The wonders of technology have allowed me to post this video of Kaitlyn and Dreyfuss for you to see. Or, to watch. Whatever is gramatically correct. Ya.

Enjoy.

http://www.mydeo.com/videorequest.asp?XID=5485&CID=5446